


A Wish In The Night

by RiverStyxGoddess



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Romance, F/F, Fluff (I think), Hurt/Comfort, canon compliant (sort of), slowburn, starts at ep 7, yeah definitely fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26091082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverStyxGoddess/pseuds/RiverStyxGoddess
Summary: After heeding Tissaia's plea to join the other mages in the Battle for Sodden Hill, Yennefer finds herself once again spending the night in Aretuza. This time, however, something is different and she just knows the rectoress is involved.
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 175
Kudos: 238





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello ! 
> 
> I thought I'd try a multi-chapter story this time! 
> 
> I'm not sure how it will finish but stick around and we will find out together x)

“If you will not do it for the brotherhood then do it for me. Please.” 

The sheer satisfaction that these words invoke propels a thrill that courses like lightening through Yennefer’s veins, one so powerful she has to employ all her resolve to maintain her cool countenance and avoid giggling madly at the ridiculous word that has just left the rectoress’ mouth. A smug smirk, however, escapes her control and she chances a glance at the slightly pinched pink lips of the proud woman before her, before sealing her victory with a last jab. 

“Have you ever used that word before?”

She feels herself tremble with this newfound power and it is intoxicating. Yennefer is so drunk on this feeling that she momentarily forgets that Tissaia has not moved from her place in front of her and has yet to say something. 

“There are many things I have not said as much as I ought to. But that is neither here nor there. Now tell me, will you join us?” Tissaia answered with a subdued tone, the usual challenge missing from her words. She kept her eyes fixed to the younger mage’s. Her gaze honest, eyes faintly glistening in the torchlit corridor, although if those were tears swimming in their surface or simply a trick of the light, Yennefer could not tell. 

“Very well. After all, it seems you’ll need me to.” She tries to savor this as much as she can, but the taste of her triumph has already dimmed somewhat. As fleeting as any moment of happiness in her sorrowful existence. So be it. 

“We leave at first light. Find Triss, she will show you to your lodgings.” The woman says before turning and disappearing through the hallway so quickly Yennefer wonders if she was ever there at all. 

Right. Triss. 

She finds the younger sorceress rather easily. Unlike Yennefer, Triss is a kind and sociable soul and to no-one’s surprise she is found not far from the Great Hall, seemingly enraptured in animated conversation with several other mages including Sabrina, who appears to be entranced by whatever the redhead is saying. 

As Yennefer approaches the small congregation the voices quieten and they turn to look at her, disdain, jealousy, and contempt written across their faces. Triss, however, seems simultaneously happy and sad to see her, almost as if apologizing for the others’ behavior. They hadn’t talked in years, but Yennefer is glad for the girl’s presence and makes a mental note to be kinder to her, if only throughout this adventure Tissaia had roped her into. 

Their discussion picks up again after a few beats. Yennefer pays no heed to what is being said, her mind still reeling from her brief exchange with the rectoress. The whole thing seems so unnatural she truly wonders if she had imagined it. The way the older woman’s face had almost crumbled when she alluded to what Yennefer had said in Rinde, before almost instantly resetting to her neutral façade. The perplexing shine in her eyes. _Please_. That word. That damned word, whispered with an intensity of emotion Yennefer thought the cold woman incapable of. Giving her a sense of vulnerability Yennefer had never attributed to the older sorceress. 

She stops her reverie when she feels Triss’ hand on her upper arm, realizing now that the mage had probably been trying to get her attention for several moments before resorting to this act. The others were already gone, Yennefer notices in passing. Ignoring this lapse, Triss links their arms and all but drags her along the dim corridors as they make their way to their rooms for the night, her idle chatter reverberating in the empty halls. 

\-----------

It is late and she is tired from the day’s emotional strain, but sleep does not come easily. Yennefer tosses and turns but every ounce of effort she puts into quietening her mind seems to have the opposite effect. Whenever she closes her eyelids, she finds blue-green eyes staring endlessly back at her. Her thoughts are assaulted with the image of pink lips surrounded by high collars of red silk. Although she is convinced her barren room smells of nothing in particular, the black-haired woman could swear she keeps catching whiffs of fresh parchment and peonies hanging in the air. 

She is about to curse it all and open a portal directly to the kitchens and drown herself in whatever alcohol she can find there when she feels it. Faint and fuzzy but it is there. Chaos. Tingling and calling to her own. Powerful too. This is no ordinary spell. As a moth drawn to a flame Yennefer wastes no time getting up, pausing only to tie a robe around her figure before venturing out into the old magical fortress, searching for the source of this magical disturbance. 

After wandering the hallways in circles for a few minutes she manages to narrow its location, Tor Lara. As she makes her way to the infamous tower she briefly wonders if the pulsing chaos could be Istredd’s doing before shaking her head at the thought. That would be ridiculous, he had left together with Yennefer and the other adepts decades ago and would have no business slithering back to his beloved elven ruin with the world now open to him. Besides, she already had a fair inkling as to who was responsible for the night’s events.

She finds herself in a part of the structure she had never been to. Deep underground, deeper even than Anica’s resting place, she is sure. The walls no longer carry the well-known architecture that decorates the rest of the construction, it is now only robust plain stone, carved only enough to make a clear pathway surrounded in darkness. She stops here, considering her next course of action. The atmosphere pulses around her and Yennefer knows she is in the right place, that whatever it is she is looking for will be found at the end of this trail. Steeling her resolve, she summons a small round light and settles it in the palm of her hand, using her long fingers as a cage to keep it from slipping away. 

She starts walking.

Minutes go by and she seems no closer to her goal. Completely blind save for the faint light she carries and with no sound other than her own heavy breathing she starts to wonder if this was a mistake. The path grows ever narrower and she is soon obliged to turn her body sideways to keep advancing. Part of her urges her to turn back, to return to her warm bed, slide under her soft covers and forget this whole endeavor, but she will be damned if she gives up after this lengthy chase. She needs to see this through.

Finally, Yennefer starts to hear it. A clear voice that pierces the stagnant night air with intent. Well enunciated vowels in a tongue forgotten by many but familiar to the black-haired woman. She picks up her pace, impatient and incredibly curious to have her answer. She is rewarded with a new light source revealing itself in the distance as the tunnel ends and she draws nearer a larger room still encased in stone.

There, standing straight with her back turned to Yennefer, looking over a wall adorned with strange markings whilst uttering the last words of a complex incantation and a transparent cloak of shimmering chaos surrounding her small frame, is Tissaia de Vries.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s chapter 2!  
> Oh boy I was not expecting the angst to hit this hard you guys. Hope you’re sitting down lol  
> TW: mentions of blood!

For a long moment Yennefer is rooted to her spot, completely enraptured by this astounding display of sheer power, the magical energy flowing from the rectoress' body in mighty waves. Tissaia is silent now but remains turned away from the raven-haired woman. Seeing her standing motionless all the way across the large stone gallery, Yennefer wonders if the smaller woman is still oblivious to her presence when the older mage promptly corrects her naïve assumption, yet to tear her eyes from the wall before her.

“You should be in bed, piglet.” Her voice has an almost edgy quality to it. Decidedly different from the one she usually associates with the stoic rectoress.

“Don’t call me that.” Yennefer bites instantly. The sting from her former nickname, though farily lessened with the passing of the years, is still present. “And I could say the same for you.” She follows, wondering if this will provide an opening to sate her curiosity. “Now do tell, what the fuck are you doing, rectoress?” 

“Language, Yennefer.” Tissaia sighs, finally turning around to face the younger woman. To say Tissaia looked drained would be a severe understatement. She looked positively exhausted. 

“Answer me.” Yennefer will be damned if she lets her get away that easily. “What the hell has you hiding away in this god forsaken soggy cave talking to the walls in the middle of the night?” She insists, somewhat tempering her vocabulary but still intent on showing her displeasure at this turn of events. 

“This does not concern you. Go back to bed.” The sorceress tries again but Yennefer can feel her resolve weakening. She ventures on.

“You know I won’t so just tell me now and be done with it.” 

Tissaia sighs once again and Yennefer knows she has won. She moves closer to the black-haired mage and peers mysteriously over the younger woman’s shoulders before inquiring in a serious tone:

“Were you followed?” Yennefer bristles at this and shakes her head, sporting a confused expression on her face. The question puzzles her, she had always thought the older woman altogether omniscient but taking in her weary appearance up close, she refrains from making any smart comments. “Come.” Tissaia brushes her upper arm, employing an almost phantom touch to tug her gently forward before turning away from Yennefer again, motioning for her to follow.

They move together towards the dimly lit wall directly opposite the end of the tunnel and Yennefer can at last properly discern what the small body was covering until now. The stone surface is covered in a myriad of runes, glistening faintly with trapped chaos. The younger mage recognizes a handful of them, but she is unfamiliar with the majority of the small inscriptions in front of her eyes. She moves to touch them, unconsciously drawn to the magic they hold, but before her fingers meet their target a small hand grasps her wrists, effectively stopping the movement. 

“Don’t.” Tissaia says simply, her hand lingering on warm flesh for a moment before letting go.

“What is this?” Yennefer cannot keep the wonderment from her tone. This close to the wall she can almost taste the chaos pulsing behind the rock. It is exhilarating, and she has difficulty even choking out the simple query. 

“I assume you remember the numerous lessons you have undertaken about defensive runes in this very establishment?” Tissaia asks lifting an eyebrow and Yennefer can only assume it is rhetorically. She doubts the smaller woman has forgotten the explosion she caused in the classroom when she failed to pay proper attention to the guidelines during the very first class on the subject. Runes were tricky, she remembers this well enough. “Although different in nature than the ones you were acquainted with over your time here, they ultimately serve the same purpose.” The arch-mistress continued.

“But why?” Yennefer asks, unable to hide the curiosity in her voice. “I thought Aretuza was protected by magical spells, not wards created by runes.” A chill set itself on Yennefer’s spine the moment she finished voicing her question. She had a suspicion as to where the other woman was arriving at and she knew whatever the rectoress would say next, she would not like it. 

“Spells are of no use if the caster is no longer present.” Tissaia stalls. “Or dead.”

Yennefer turns briskly to search the woman’s face at this but Tissaia is looking away, focusing on an unknown point in the corner of the room. There is a moment of silence before Yennefer chances the next words, incapable of containing herself.

“You can’t mean that.” She tries weakly. Surely, she couldn’t mean that.

“While we have an idea of the threat that Nilfgaard poses, I cannot be sure of what will happen these next days. Best to be prepared.” The smaller woman said simply. “Aretuza must hold. It is imperative to the survival of the Continent.” She finishes firmly. 

“The bloody Continent again. Fine, have it your way.” Yennefer sighs, not in a mood to fight. Another moment passes before she is struck with a realization. “That doesn’t explain why you’re sneaking like a common prowler.” She says before adding quickly. “And why did you ask if I was being followed?”

“I am not sneaking!” The older woman squawks before recomposing herself. Despite the importance of the conversation Yennefer cannot help smiling at this. Flustering the rectoress shall forever be one of her favorite pastimes. The black-haired mage waits patiently for her to continue but she never does so Yennefer tries again:

“You said these runes were different in nature than the ones you teach here.”

“Hmmm” 

“Talk to me, Tissaia.” Yennefer knows she’s skirting the line, but she must know what the woman is hiding, it cannot be helped.

Another sigh. They lock eyes once more and for the first time Yennefer sees what she believes to be fear in the other woman’s eyes. Tissaia searches her face for several moments, a conflicted expression replacing the normally neutral one. Yennefer tries her best to appear honest and accepting, hoping that it will persuade the smaller mage to verbalize whatever is troubling her. For some reason she cannot place, Yennefer finds she wants Tissaia to trust her. She wants it desperately. 

“I fear you’ll judge me. You have before.” 

“I won’t.”

“Perhaps you should.”

“Tell me, please.”

Tissaia’s mouth opens and closes. Yennefer hopes it is not lost on her that she has just used _that_ word. She doesn’t know why she has done it, a wicked part of her brain scolding her for already losing her advantage mere hours after gaining it. But she realizes she doesn’t care about that anymore. Not when Tissaia is looking at her like that. Not when it really matters. 

That seems to have done the trick. Tissaia’s eyes soften considerably, and the corners of her mouth turn slightly upwards in an amused smile. Yennefer, finding the smile contagious cannot resist the urge to reciprocate it. They stay this way for a while, both silently savoring this new development, so foreign in their usually stormy relationship. The moment doesn’t last however, and Tissaia’s expression soon turns ominous.

“The magic they require… there is a reason it is not taught here…” She trails off but continues after taking in a short breath. “They are frowned upon for they demand a sacrifice most mages would not willingly agree to.” She finishes.

“Surely not --.” Yennefer cannot keep the disbelief from her tone.

“No, not life itself.” Tissaia interrupts, already guessing where her thoughts had strayed to. “A piece of the conjurer, if you will. A token of life.” 

“A token?” Yennefer furrows her brows. “So, blood I take it?” She concludes angrily, not at all elated at hearing this. She looks over the wall once again and refrains from counting how many runes there were. But without even trying she knows she can see at least fifty different markings decorating its surface. The amount of blood that would be needed… She shivers at the thought. 

“Yes, Yennefer. Blood.” 

“And the incantation I heard?”

“A preliminary requirement, as is necessary with most runes.”

“And you choose the night before we head to battle to drain yourself of your strength?” Yennefer’s throat rasps as she increases her volume, suddenly furious at the smaller woman. She is tempted to hide her trembling hands from sight but falters as the rectoress looks away guiltily. 

“There is a time pressure. I cannot know when we will return, and they must hold for as long as possible. You know this, Yennefer.” 

“For fuck’s sake, Tissaia!” She reaches out and lays her hands on the smaller woman’s shoulders, shaking her gently. “For all this talk of protecting Aretuza and the Continent you forget that you have also a duty to yourself! Not to mention to us. We need you. I --.” Yennefer hesitates but the look on Tissaia’s face strengthens her resolve and suddenly she _needs_ the other woman to hear these words. “ _I_ need you.” 

Tissaia brushes her hands off. “I’m not what matters, Yennefer. I’ve told you before, Aretuza is everything to the Continent and to world order.” She presses on, not allowing Yennefer the chance to interrupt. “I’m nothing to no-one. There is no dilemma in this matter.” She says matter-of-factly.

“That’s bullshit!” Yennefer can no longer deny she is essentially screaming at the other woman and is secretly thankful they are as far away from prying ears as one could possibly get in this miserable school. “You’re the great Tissaia de Vries, arch-mistress and rectoress of Aretuza, member of the Chapter of the Gift and the Art –"

“Those are just titles, Yennefer. Someone held them before my time, and someone will hold them when I am no more.” Tissaia tries tiredly, eyes closing briefly at the manifestation of the younger mage’s ire. 

“Don’t be daft, it does not become you.” Yennefer scorns. “You know you’re so much more than that!” Her own voice seems unfamiliar to her ears. She can suddenly no longer feel her body anchoring her to the ground. For all intents and purposes, she is now a bystander to her own sentimental testimony. There is no more control to be had, too far gone in her emotions to even attempt to reel them back inside. “I, for one, am not fighting for fucking Aretuza!” She struggles to breathe out, her chest now heaving from her ongoing outburst. “I thought we established that.” 

Tissaia looks stunned and stares mutely at the younger woman. Still attempting and clearly failing to master her breathing, Yennefer looks away, ashamed. At a complete loss for her own behavior, she curses her vulnerability and desperately searches for a way out of this situation. Nearing hyperventilation and still trying to focus on anything other than the smaller mage she jumps when she feels two determined (and deceptively strong) hands pull her forward to face the woman now directly in front of her. 

Tissaia holds her steady as she presses their foreheads together, small hands brushing her neck and cupping her cheeks soothingly. “Breathe, Yennefer.” Tissaia whispers and this close Yennefer can smell her perfume and feel the warmth radiating from her form. “Just… just _breathe_.” The older woman murmurs this last word repeatedly. In an effort to ground herself, Yennefer focuses solely on the woman’s voice until every one of her senses is filled by the rectoress. They remain this way for several long moments, brows locked together, breaths intermingling, and Yennefer basks in it. For once in her life she feels safe and, if only for a short time, she can truly believe all is well. Here and now, nothing matters more than the feeling of Tissaia’s body near her own and the weight of her sheltering hands framing her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Part 3 coming in tomorrow – gotta build up the suspense!  
> For the sake of plot let’s just agree that once a mage dies the spells they have cast in life no longer hold 😊
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts! Comments and kudos are my fuel!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is up! 
> 
> Sh*t gets real – brace yourselves. 
> 
> TW: mentions of blood and self-inflicted injury

Yennefer is so lost in the sensation of having the other woman close that it is only when Tissaia starts tenderly stroking her cheek that she realizes they have changed positions. Their foreheads no longer touch, and the smaller woman now simply holds her face in her hands, seemingly taking her in. The rectoress’ eyes appear to blaze a trail over her features, searching and quelling what remains of her former distress.

“Is there no other way?” Yennefer mutters exhaling shakily, unable to let the subject go.

“Yennefer --” Tissaia starts but lets the words hang in the space between them. 

“Is there anything I can do? To help?” Yennefer tries weakly, half-expecting a negative response when the other woman surprises her. 

“There is if you would like to.” Tissaia whispers, fingers still caressing her jawline. The brunette draws back suddenly, restoring the distance between them and reverting to her neutral expression. “However, I would not ask that of you.”

“Good thing you’re not asking, then.” Yennefer asserts. 

The rectoress nods mutely at this, face hardening as she prepares her next words. “I will be unable to heal myself through magical means. I would be… grateful for any help you provide in that matter.” This admission of weakness brings a sour look about the smaller woman’s face.

Yennefer closes her eyes and tries not to linger on the fact that, had she not been at Aretuza, Tissaia would have likely faced this predicament alone, subjected to a torture reserved only for mortals incapable of channeling chaos. What a terrifying thought. She nods her head and even though healing has never been her forte, Yennefer swears to herself that she will do all in her power to spare Tissaia any additional pain. 

As if reading her mind Tissaia sighs and teases, eyes crinkling at the sides. “Hmm now that I think about it, perhaps I should ask Triss instead.” She smirks and Yennefer huffs, but cannot help responding in kind, very much enjoying this newfound familiarity between them. 

“Shall we begin?” Tissaia is all business once again, well aware of the constraints of time. Dawn would be upon them soon and if they lingered any longer it would all be for naught.

“Let’s to it then.” Yennefer agrees, still uncertain about this entire enterprise but unwilling to oppose the other woman any longer, lest she turn her away and decide to go on by herself. 

Tissaia dips her head in acknowledgement after searching Yennefer’s face a final time, making sure to allow her the chance to desist, should she wish to. Satisfied that they are both ready and willing, she walks to a lone stone pedestal affixed to the side of the rune-filled wall. Yennefer had failed to notice its presence before now but sure enough, there it stood, appearing as ancient as the old walls around them. 

On it lay a single bone dagger carved with intricate inscriptions, Yennefer notices that some of them match the ones decorating the wall. She wants to know more about this hidden place and its meaning but decides now is not the time for a history lesson. She approaches Tissaia who is yet to pick up the weapon, seemingly steeling herself for what comes next. 

Yennefer wants to tell her it will be alright but finds the words lacking. “I’m here.” She finally says, placing her hand soothingly on the woman’s shoulder from behind, hoping to provide whatever reassurance she can. The brunette nods once more and in a swift movement grabs the blade and makes to reclaim her place before the faintly gleaming runes on the stone surface. Yennefer holds her breath as the rectoress positions the knife just above the pulse point on her radial artery.

She brings it down and although Yennefer knows it to be impossible, she swears she fells every cut as if they were piercing her very own skin.

\-----------------

It is done. 

Yennefer finds no words to describe how equally terrified and blown away she is by what she has just witnessed. She knew Tissaia was impressive, she was an arch-mistress after all and benefited from centuries of learning the many intricacies of chaos, but it seemed a single drop of the woman’s blood contained more raw power than most mages could ever dream of possessing in their entire body. However, to Yennefer’s dismay, the amount required for the ritual left even this immensely powerful woman completely debilitated. By the end, her small frame trembled with exhaustion and her face was drained of all color, normally pink cheeks now an unsettling grey hue. 

But Yennefer knew she had succeeded for the results were already visible. The runes were now a deep ruby color, shimmering brightly in the dark gallery. Whatever magic the black-haired mage had felt emanating from the cave earlier paled in comparison to the energy now radiating from the wall. 

Throughout the incantation her eyes never strayed from Tissaia’s form, ready to jump in should she need a momentary reprieve. But the older woman never faltered, only slightly stumbling as the final words of Elder finally left her blue lips, signaling the end of the enchantment. 

As tired blue eyes met Yennefer’s violet ones, the younger woman recognized her cue to start the healing process and wasted no time getting to work. She kneeled swiftly to the ground, bringing Tissaia smoothly down with her and laying the back of the woman’s head gently on her shoulder, molding her form to Yennefer’s chest. 

Holding Tissaia’s arms firmly in her hands, she confidently began casting the spells she had been rehearsing in her mind ever since Tissaia made to stand before the wall, dagger in hand. Yennefer almost cried with relief when she witnessed the rectoress’ skin working to mend itself.  
The other woman accepted this treatment with no comment save for a few quiet groans that escaped her control, face turning towards the younger mage’s neck when she felt the manifestations of Yennefer’s will pulling at particularly deep incisions. 

Once Yennefer could do no more and the open wounds were replaced with pink, well-healed, scars, she took a moment to hold the arch-mistress in her arms, reassuring herself that the smaller woman was very much alive and breathing. Tissaia’s eyes were closed and her breathing was gentle and deep. Yennefer realized then that the woman had likely fallen into a trance-like state, akin to a profound sleep. 

Unwilling to wake her, Yennefer carefully lifted the small body in her arms before summoning enough chaos to open a portal that would lead to her temporary chambers, knowing full well she wouldn’t get past the rectoress’ wards that guarded her own private quarters. 

Arriving at her room, she made quick work of the woman’s blood-soaked dress, using magic to replace it with a modest white nightgown that she hoped Tissaia would find agreeable come morning. She then placed the dormant rectoress as tenderly as she could on her bed, covering her up to her neck in soft blankets, aware that she might feel cold in the night considering what she had lost. 

Tightening her own robe, Yennefer settled herself on the armchair under the windowpanes, the only other furniture available to her in the apartment. She hopes sleep will find her easily this time and indeed it is not long before she feels herself drifting off, lulled by Tissaia’s soft breathing. The image of the rectoress’ slight frame laying snugly under the bedspread is the last thing she sees before she is claimed by dreams of dark caves and velvety touches. 

\---------------------

“Yen. Yennefer!”

Yennefer starts at the loud noise. Her tired eyes are blurry as she works to open them, trying to make out the intruder currently forcibly shaking her awake. Her neck cracks with the effort of turning towards the woman’s voice, now employing a more subdued tone. Her muscles ache from spending too long awkwardly thrown on the stiff chair. Several moments go by before she can properly discern Triss’ figure in the dark room. Any anger at the interruption of her slumber is immediately forgotten as the younger mage smiles kindly at her, certainly amused at her chosen sleep-position.

“Mhmh… Triss? What it is? What’s wrong?” She manages to croak. 

“We must leave now if we are to make it to the docks in time. Did no one tell you we would leave at first light?” Triss asks, brows furrowing as Yennefer stretches, her vertebrae popping from the effort. 

Before Yennefer can answer, the memory of last night comes rushing back to her and she turns her head sharply towards the four-poster bed in the middle of the room. Although the entire area is still cloaked in darkness, she could clearly see that it was missing its previous occupant. It stood empty.

“I know the bed isn’t what you are accustomed to but surely it is more comfortable than that old chair?” 

Yennefer blinks at this. Her mouth opens but no sound comes out. Should she inquire as to the rectoress’ whereabouts or would that give her – them – away? Surely Tissaia would appreciate discretion in this matter. A pang of anger flows through Yennefer as she thinks of the smaller woman. While she understands the need for secrecy (and probably for propriety) that must have motivated the other woman to leave as soon as she could, lest she be caught in Yennefer’s chambers, she cannot help feeling discarded once her part had been played. The younger mage seemed oblivious to the inner battle now raging inside the raven-haired sorceress and waited patiently for an answer, seemingly attributing this slow response to drowsiness. 

“You mentioned leaving?” Yennefer finally says, effectively avoiding the question after deciding to keep the night’s events to herself. 

“Ah, yes. The ship will be departing soon, no doubt. Sabrina and the others have gone ahead but I said I’d wait for you. Do you need help getting ready?” Triss asked good-naturedly. 

“No, just wait a second while I put on my dress.” Yennefer sighs, getting up and stretching a final time before lighting the chandelier hanging above them with a wave of her arm and heading to the wash basin stand to freshen up. 

She is soon donning a black and white dress with an intricate rope design and black leather gloves. Yennefer begins to feel like herself again as she fastens her necklace around her slender throat. When, with a flick of her fingers, she materializes a coating of bright eyeshadow on her eyelids she can almost begin to believe she imagined whatever happened between her and the rectoress mere hours ago. Maybe it truly was a dream. She lets her eyes glance over the small indentation on the sheets before turning decisively towards Triss, making a show of presenting herself. 

“Good, right?” She asks smugly. When she conjured the dress, she knew it was one of her finer creations. 

“Come on or Tissaia will unleash her wrath on us. You know how much she detests tardiness” Triss said, rolling her eyes with barely concealed humor. She starts moving down the halls, quickly enough that she misses the way Yennefer falters at the mention of the older woman. 

While following Triss’ echoing footsteps she cannot help but wonder apprehensively what will be waiting for them when they reach their destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! 
> 
> Wow – that was a rough one. Although I enjoy detailing, self-inflicted injury is a real trigger for me so I had to keep that part to a minimum, hope you understand! 
> 
> Next chapter should be up before the end of the week! 
> 
> Comments and kudos make my day!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s chapter 4! 
> 
> There is A LOT of description in this one so I’m sorry if that’s not your thing. I delayed publishing it a bit so I could post a longer chapter and give you more meaningful interactions! 
> 
> Any lines you recognize were taken from the show so I give them full credit! And as usual, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Without further ado, here it is – hope you like it!

The walk to the docks is a lengthy one. The temporary quarters assigned to the mages were located in one of the towers that made the eastern wing of Aretuza, far away from its main gates. To Yennefer’s surprise, the bubbly healer was unusually taciturn, leading the way with a grim look on her face. 

“Triss?”

“Mmm. Sorry, Yenna. Were you saying something?” She smiled apologetically, though it failed to reach her eyes. 

“What’s bothering you?” Yennefer was genuinely curious as to what could possibly sour the younger woman’s mood.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I suppose I’m just worried.” 

“Worried? Certainly not about the battle? We’re mages Triss, damn powerful ones.” Yennefer tried to sound reassuring but only managed to sound bored.

“You’re probably right. Still –” Triss trailed off as they turned around the corner and almost bumped into a group of novices making their way to class. “Never mind, best we hurry.” She picked up her pace.

The air outside was thick with smog, not wholly uncommon for dawn at Thanedd Isle. The humidity made it hard for Yennefer to breathe and she felt the brash cold wind tearing like a knife through the skin of her face. 

Although largely secluded from the outside world, Aretuza boasted an impressive docking port, fit for accommodating both small and large vessels alike. The latter kind was currently docked near the stony shore and Yennefer spared a moment to appreciate the ship swaying proudly in the distance. It could easily fit a small army but as they made to join the other mages already busying themselves, Yennefer knew she couldn’t have counted much more than fifty heads.

There, barking orders amidst the commotion, stood Tissaia. 

Yennefer heard more than felt her breath catching in her throat and was momentarily grateful for the loud noises around her. She noticed the older woman looked tired but otherwise no different than normal and found herself relieved at the sight. This sudden preoccupation with the rectoress’ safety still took her by surprise. Triss chose this moment to wander off in Sabrina’s direction, leaving Yennefer to her own devices with a quick “I’ll be right back.” 

The raven-haired woman tried to distract herself by focusing on the movement around her. She noticed large heavy wooden crates being carried in great numbers to the ship. The atmosphere was tingling with chaos and excitement, with a strong anxious energy hiding beneath the surface. 

She knew her eyes unconsciously strayed to the rectoress’ form more often than would be appropriate but she couldn’t stop herself. Yennefer had spent every moment since awaking ruminating about Tissaia. She wanted badly to go over and talk to the smaller woman (or scream at her, she hadn’t decided which one yet). Instead she stood lamely near the platform, brooding with her hair flailing wildly in the breeze. 

Tissaia gave no indication she was aware of the Yennefer‘s presence. She simply went about her business, stopping regularly to provide some needed guidance or to inspect a particularly important delivery of cargo. Yennefer understood the severity of the situation called for the woman's attention, but it didn’t stop her pouting like a child at being disregarded.

Even as they finally boarded, it seemed the two women stayed well out of each other’s path. Yennefer tried obly once to get the other mage’s attention but failed miserably, now finding herself unwillingly trapped in conversation with Vilgefortz. He looked at her curiously while attempting to discuss strategy for the coming battle. Yennefer ignored most of what he said, preferring to gaze absently towards the sea as they took off. 

\----------------------------

They made good time crossing the Yaruga, the winds favoring their sails as they sped downriver. Once they approached their destination the ship drew as close to the shore as the undercurrent and the mist allowoed. The mages made to board the small boats that would at last lead them to dry land, where they would begin the trek towards Sodden Hill.

Yennefer lingered behind, intent on riding with Triss, not wanting to find herself in the company of strangers for the remainder of their journey over water. The healer took more active part in the preparations than Yennefer, and once she was ready to leave, they got on the very last boat to the coast. Sabrina seemed displeased when Yennefer took her place next to Triss but refrained from commenting as she settled down in front of them. 

They were waiting in silence when Yennefer recognized Tissaia’s approaching form out of the corner of her eye. It seemed the rectoress had also been delayed in her departure. She barely spared the younger sorceresses a glance as she perched elegantly on the wooden boat, evidently lost in thought.

As they sway along the foggy river, Yennefer recounted her encounter with Istredd, hoping to tempt Tissaia into conversation, or at the very least to make her presence known to the smaller woman. It was only when she began scorning Nilfgaard that the rectoress addressed her. 

“Nilfgaard take people down to their worst, giving them something to cling to, even if it’s just shitty ale.”

“That’s why we’re here.” Tissaia said abruptly and Yennefer could only stare at her, stunned. She was also painfully aware that these were the first words the woman had spoken to her since almost bleeding out in her arms. “Because sometimes it’s not shitty ale. Sometimes it’s a bed in a pig pen. You have to make a choice to fight back.” The lingering look they shared before Tissaia turned to look ahead haunted Yennefer for the rest of the short trip.

Everything was a blur after this. Yennefer remembers the beginnings of another unpleasant discussion with Vilgefortz. It appeared as though her mixed feelings towards the warlock were reciprocated in kind. After the exchange she only recalls walking in silence for hours, her feet soon hurting from the effort. When they were finally greeted with the sight of Sodden, she didn't try to hide her disappointment at having to defend the decrepit ruin before her. Is this what they were fighting for?

It is not long before they are once again occupied with readying the keep for the incoming assault. Yennefer still refrains from participating, preferring instead to familiarize herself with the layout of the castle. She watches from the ramparts as Sabrina, Triss and the other mages prepare explosives and practice defensive spells. Tissaia helps them for a while before joining Vilgefortz and Vanielle in a secretive conversation. Yennefer scowls at the way the man peers at Tissaia. She knows lust when she sees it and to witness his clearly directed at the rectoress is enough to make Yennefer’s gut churn and blood boil. 

Night falls and brings with it an entirely new energy to the camp. Music plays and people dance, drinking away their worries. Yennefer feels no more inclined to join the festivities as she did the preparations. She sulks as far as possible from the roaring voices. As she walks along the artillery room, she is pulled from her moping by one of the women refugees. The woman seems just as downcast and Yennefer, to her surprise, finds herself wanting to comfort her. When did she become so tenderhearted? She grimaces at her own antics. 

\------------------------- 

Finishing her rations, Yennefer wanders towards the bonfire. Perhaps now was the time to find a nice, secluded spot to lay her sleeping bag. Triss, who had been otherwise occupied the whole afternoon, comes to see her then. She points to Tissaia standing next to Vilgefortz and jests while taking a bite of the red apple in her hand. 

“Is Vilgefortz to be our new daddy?”

Yennefer turns to the couple just as Vilgefortz takes his leave, feeling her stomach drop at the words. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she sighs tiredly, suddenly in a very bad mood.

“You did time in Temeria. Do you believe king Foltest will bring the northern armies?” She hopes the younger woman won’t press the matter of who enjoys the rectoress’ company. 

Triss is all cheerful optimism, the previous nervousness seemingly forgotten, and Yennefer is secretly glad for it. She talks about how Foltest trusts her now that she and Geralt helped cure his curse-afflicted daughter. 

Geralt. Yennefer deflates at the mention of the witcher, the memory only serving to prove what Tissaia had said long ago about her never finding true love. 

“You should be wary of his kind. They’re so often disappointing.” 

“The ale won’t disappoint.” A lilting voice calls to her, effectively halting her self-pitying. 

Yennefer turns towards its source, who is now holding up a tankard invitingly. 

“We should enjoy it while we can, it’s the first thing Nilfgaard will destroy.” She hears herself saying. Her feet have started moving as if independent from her body and before she can put a stop to it, they are sitting with nary a hair between them. 

“Must you always be so fatalistic?” The rectoress teases before sipping from her mug.

“It’s only appropriate, seeing as we might die.” She finds the notion does not scare her as it once did. Maybe there was truly nothing left for her to live for.

“All the more reason to live tonight.” 

“Mmmm. Like you.” Yennefer cannot help baiting, eyes dragging across the kovirian warlock, Triss’ words still fresh on her mind.

She stiffens in anticipation of the rectoress’ answer but Tissaia provides none. She simply follows Yennefer’s eyes to the man now chatting with two other lads. Turning her head back to the raven-haired mage with an amused expression and a twinkle in her eyes. Despite this not being the outright denial she was looking for; Yennefer finds herself chuckling along with the brunette. 

The silence that follows is not unwelcome. Although one could say it mirrors the one that perplexed Yennefer before, it feels different. Comfortable. 

“So, are you ready…” Tissaia ventures and Yennefer searches the woman’s eyes for an insight as to her meaning. “To die?” She finishes.

Yennefer considers the notion for the second time in this conversation and, once again, she feels nothing at the thought.

“Yes. I’ve lived two or three lifetimes already.” She says indifferently. 

“But you haven’t been satisfied in any of them.” The certainty catches Yennefer off guard. 

“I’ve tried. But I’ve no legacy to leave behind. No family. Its time to accept that life has no more to give.” Although too numb to truly feel vulnerable at the admission, the sincerity in her own voice is unfamiliar to her. She stares ahead, thinking on her words, momentarily forgetting about the body pressed next to her.

“You still have so much left to give.” 

The strangled affirmation takes her aback and Yennefer jerks her head towards the smaller woman, once again searching her eyes for what her words do not voice. Tissaia manages to look both angry and sorrowful as her eyes bore into violet ones. Before the younger mage can reply, however, the woman is gone, leaving a dazed Yennefer behind. 

Bewildered, Yennefer searches her mind for what just happened. Shock soon turns to annoyance. She is tired of this. How much time and effort must she spend trying to figure out Tissaia’s moods? If this truly is Yennefer’s last night on this Earth then she will solve the mystery that is the frustrating woman, whatever the cost.

So, she gets up and follows. 

\-------------------------

Tissaia moves freakishly fast for someone her size and Yennefer is soon chasing after her in the maze that is the ancient fortress. She finds her on its edge, overlooking the river beneath them, a contemplative expression on her face. 

“Care to explain?” She asks angrily, breathless from the pursuit. She knows this isn’t the best approach, but cares very little at the moment. 

“I beg your pardon?” Tissaia turns to her, tone indignant. 

“’You still have so much left to give’” Yennefer air quotes, fuming. “Is that another one of your cryptic foreshadowings?” 

“You are the one with the penchant for drama, Yennefer. Not I.” Tissaia huffs.

“Oh, is that so?” She is filled to the brim with sarcasm. “You’re quite possibly the most dramatic bitch I’ve ever met, Tissaia. Your behavior last night and today is proof of it.” 

“Lower your voice, girl.” 

“Oh. Shy, are we? No, I don’t think I will, rectoress.” 

“That’s enough.” Her tone is warning.

“No! You don’t get to do this anymore. I’m not your fucking student, Tissaia. Haven’t been for over half a century.” She pauses and takes the other woman in. Tissaia looks pale and thin, slight frame drowning in her bulky dress. “Why did you bring me here to die only to tell me I still have so much to live for?” She is suddenly exhausted. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Tissaia’s tone is softer now. “You’ll not die. Not if I have any say in it.”

Their eyes lock and the air around them is suddenly heavy with things left unsaid. 

“How are you feeling?” Yennefer tries valiantly to keep the worry from her voice but fails. 

“I’m perfectly well.” However, something Tissaia sees in Yennefer’s eyes makes her take a step closer and quirk her lips reassuringly. “I’m alright, Yennefer, truly.” 

“Is there pain?” 

“None. I took one of Triss’ famed healing potions this morning before we set off. She is quite the healer. I’ll be fine.” 

“You told Triss?” Yennefer asked, incredulously.

“I have not. Unlike certain people, Triss knows to respect my privacy and when to refrain from questioning me.” Tissaia raises a single eyebrow. 

“Please. You love it when I challenge you.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” But the woman is smirking, and an increasingly familiar voice in Yennefer’s head says Tissaia looks perfect like this. “Walk with me.” The words are spoken gently but they are a command, nonetheless, and they are soon walking side by side.

Their soft steps echo faintly as they move languidly along the high walls. The camp was now quiet, Yennefer noted. Tissaia seemed to be leading her somewhere but despite her curiosity, Yennefer lets the silence linger between them, occasionally stealing glances at the older woman. 

They soon arrive at a courtyard hidden beyond a half-collapsed marble arch. The architecture, although ancient, was breathtaking and Yennefer could make out the remnants of what was once a luscious garden bound by the stone walls.

“What is this place?” 

“Sodden was not always the ruin you see now. This castle was once the pride of a great nation.” The arch-mage’s voice is wistful.

“How do you know this?” 

“I witnessed it with my own eyes.” She smiled tentatively. “ ’Twas the first kingdom I served, after my ascension.” 

“What was it like?” Yennefer breathed, amazed at this display of openness from the controlled woman.

“Grand. Its king a proud man feared by his enemies and subjects alike. Arrogant in a way only mortals can be.” Tissaia seems lost in the memory. “He thought his dynasty would outlast the Continent and all its people. Alas, you can divine the rest.” She gestures to the rubble around them.

“Were you there when it fell?”

“I was not. I – I left not long after arriving, I am afraid. And I was later offered a position in Aretuza as the rectoress’ assistant. I never came back. Before today, that is.” She smiled sadly and sat down on the remains of a bench beside the wildflowers. After a beat, Yennefer joins her. 

They remained silent for a while. Yennefer startled when she felt Tissaia’s mental barriers easing unexpectedly. Suddenly she could almost taste the smaller woman’s emotions and was surprised at their intensity. She could distinguish in them the trepidation and suffering that were linked to Tissaia’s memory of this place. Yennefer felt a copper tang in her mouth and realized she had bitten down on her tongue. When Tissaia eventually met her eyes, what Yennefer saw in their shimmering surface made her grasp the brunette’s hand. Her thumb stroked gentle circles over Tissaia’s knuckles while violet eyes peered deeply into blue-green ones.

They gravitated almost involuntarily towards one another, faces approaching slowly but surely. When their lips met, Yennefer’s breath hitched immediately at the overdose of sensation. Tissaia’s reaction was not much different from her own and after a moment’s hesitation, they both sunk into the kiss. Their embrace grew passionate, a feverish dance whose tempo stemmed from their rapidly beating hearts, creating a unique rhythm that left their bodies blazing and their lungs breathless. They grasped onto each other as if their lives depended on it. Yennefer did not know it was possible to feel this much – the depth of her emotions blanking her mind and leaving her scalp tingling. 

A desperate moan escaped her control and just like that, the spell was broken. 

Tissaia lurched from her arms as if burned, face a deep crimson. She looked gloriously disheveled. Yennefer’s chest heaved, much like It did the night before albeit for very different reasons. She brought her trembling fingers to her own cheek and felt fresh tears on their surface. She tried to remember the last time she had cried and came up empty. The older woman opened her mouth but before she could voice her thoughts, they jumped at the loud screaming now coming from the camp. 

They looked up as the sky turned a fiery red color. Although dazed, Yennefer could now distinctively feel the chaos in the air, one that did not originate from the meeting of their bodies. She wondered how she had missed it before. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up at the fast-approaching energy. Still half-waiting for the rest of her senses to catch up, she turned to the rectoress, a panicked look on her face. 

“I feel it too” The woman cut her off, already moving towards the agitation. “It’s happening.” 

A part of Yennefer wanted to whisk the smaller woman away and finish what they had started but as she watched Tissaia charge gracefully ahead she knew she had to make sure they lived, for they had much to discuss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I genuinely would love to hear your thoughts! I'm still learning as I go! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are my fuel ! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter 5!
> 
> This one along with the next chapter will set the groundwork for what's coming next ;)  
> All mistakes are mine and once again you will find some lines from the show scattered throughout, full credit to the writers! 
> 
> Without further ado, here it is! Hope you like it! :)

The first fireball leaves Yennefer trembling as she hurls it away from the keep. It pulses with a sort of energy the mage had never felt before, something akin to a thousand heartbeats vibrating in its center. For the short time she had held it, the fiery orb threatened to consume her entirely. Head throbbing, she screamed at the others to get up and hide from what was surely only the beginning of the onslaught. Sure-enough, a few seconds later, another sphere came hurdling in their general direction and Yennefer paled at the sight. She couldn’t keep this up, still mildly disoriented from what happened just minutes ago with Tissaia. She needed to ground her emotions, lest she lose control entirely. 

Luckily, before Yennefer had to dart towards the danger, a small figure positioned itself before the flaming threat descending upon them. Tissaia made quick work of it, seemingly already recovered from whatever went on in the courtyard. She took a moment to recollect herself before glancing over at Yennefer, eyes searching to make sure the younger woman was all right. Without saying a word, she scurried off to join the other mages. Despite the turmoil, Yennefer’s first thought went to Triss, knowing how much the healer detested bloodshed. She looked around for the redhead, but she found no familiar faces in the chaos.

A high-pitched scream pierced the night air not far from her position, different than the ones already filling her ears. Without thinking, Yennefer rushed towards it just as another fireball scratched the sky. It was larger than the previous two and its trajectory would lead directly to the ramparts. As she ran as fast as she could, the enchantress hoped someone – anyone - would reach it in time. 

She approached the tall walls just in time to witness Triss, Sabrina and Coral standing side by side, arms glowing to form a protective barrier around the fortress. Though they managed to deflect the incoming assault, all three sorceresses stumbled as it hit the glimmering wall they had created. Triss fell promptly to the group, bracing her fall with her hands. Although very powerful for her age, the young mage did not have much experience with combat spells, which were known to tire even the most capable conjurer. 

The women huddled together, making sure there were no injuries between them. Once satisfied with their inspection, they finally looked up at Yennefer standing beside them. 

“Where were you?” Triss asked, eyes sporting once again unadulterated anxiousness.

“I – I...”

“Never mind that!” Coral chimed in. “We have to find Tissaia. She’ll know what to do.”

“I want to know what the fuck is going on!” Sabrina roared.

“Take a guess, dear.” An unamused voice called from behind them. 

They turned in sync to find Tissaia already making to leave. Not waiting for an invitation, the four mages followed the arch-mistress without delay. The noises around them had dimmed down significantly. Where over two hundred people slept peacefully not ten minutes ago, not a soul was in sight. 

“Its Nilfgaard then?” Coral ventured as they attempted to match the rectoress’ pace although Yennefer could tell she already knew the answer.

“How is that possible?” Sabrina asked again, more restrained. 

“It appears so.” Said the older woman, ignoring the latter’s question. 

“That power.” Coral said grimly “I’ve felt it before.”

“So have I.” Tissaia matched her tone.

They approached the makeshift barricade just as a fight broke out among the mages already there. 

“This is not what we enlisted for! I won’t die for Sodden.” A white-haired wizard growled. 

“Peace, Ilos. They seem to have halted their attack.” Said a bald mage who appeared fresh out of initiation.

“They’re just getting started. I can hear their army across the woods. Stregobor was right, we should never have come. It is folly to oppose Nilfgaard.” Said a frightened yellow-haired sorceress. “Perhaps they truly mean no harm to the rest of the Continent.” She tried. 

“Nilfgaard will not stop until everything north of the Yaruga is under their control. Or destroyed” Tissaia said imperiously, effectively silencing their squabble. 

“Arch-mistress de Vries! I only meant –”

“I know this was unexpected, but our plan remains unchanged.” She continued, voice stern. “We will defend and fortify the keep to the best of our abilities.” Tissaia paused. “However, you are under no obligation to stay. For those of you who wish to leave, there will be no other opportunity. Choose now.” She finished firmly, turning swiftly, and signaling Vilgefortz and Vanielle to follow. 

Throughout the exchange Yennefer said nothing. Speechlessness where Tissaia was concerned felt increasingly familiar to her.

She could not deny the apprehension at the memory of the earlier attack. Yennefer wondered what Coral had meant when she alluded to recognizing the magic Nilfgaard employed. As she turned from the congregation, she locked eyes with the Skelliger and voiced her question.

“Dark magic.” The distraught woman answered. “How many more brothers and sisters will we lose to it before this war is over, I wonder?” 

The rest of the night was spent in nervous contemplation. Although no more attempts on the castle were made, sleep did not come to the people of Sodden. An eerie silence pierced regularly by infant cries lingered until dawn. The kiss she had shared with Tissaia coupled with the events of the last hours left her disconcerted. Yennefer peered over the walls before turning and spotting Tissaia making to sit next to an upset Triss. Sabrina joined them soon after, holding the younger woman to her chest.

Aware that she might not have another chance to be close the brunette, Yennefer approached the women and took her place next to Tissaia on the ground. After a moment's hesitation she brushed her fingers gingerly against the rectoress', fully expecting a rebuttal. Although she did not meet her eyes or utter a single word, Tissaia immediately reciprocated the gesture, and then deliberately connected their palms. Yennefer took in a shaky breath but settled more comfortably against the stone, concentrating on the warmth radiating from the small hand that was not her own.

There, hands now fully entangled and hidden from sight by the darkness that had taken over the stronghold, they did the only thing they could do. They waited. 

Once day broke, those who remained assembled to plan the day’s defenses. Despite now missing more than half their force in numbers, twenty-two faces looked over the green hills with determination. Now finally able to discern Nilfgaard’s army in the horizon, they agreed that they could no longer wait for the northern reinforcements to arrive. They would stand alone. 

Things happened quickly then. A thick fog swept over the forest, hiding any incoming threat from their sight. It was time. 

Tissaia made to give the last guidance she could to Sabrina before gesturing for Triss to join her. Before she could leave, however, she approached Yennefer. Standing close to the younger woman, she touched her arm gently, a resolute look on her face.

“Keep watch from the tower.” 

“The tower? –“

“Reserve your chaos.” Each word was punctuated. Although only lasting a few seconds at most, the eye contact they shared was intense, the look on the older woman’s face deep enough for Yennefer to drown into. She swallowed thickly as she watched the smaller woman walk away, briefly wondering if she would ever see her again.

\-------------------------------------

Thought transference was paramount to their success, it seemed. Yennefer thought she better understood her current position now. Tissaia hadn’t been thinking of her safety when she assigned her this post, she scoffed bitterly. She knew the woman remembered her time in Aretuza. Although seemingly impossible to grasp at first, Yennefer became quite accomplished in the old elven art and the rectoress was well aware of this fact.

She was here because she was useful.

Atop her tower, Yennefer briefly wondered why the idea made her sad. After all, she always knew the woman didn’t care for her, only coveted her power. _That’s not true_ said a voice in her head, flooding her with he smell of peonies and the memory of soft lips pressed to her own. She wondered mildly if she had maybe misunderstood the woman, before pushing any further cogitation away when she felt a familiar mind entreating her own.

“Can anyone hear me?” She tried placing the sensation now invading her thoughts. “Tissaia?” She wondered.

“I can.” Despite her previous musings, hearing the woman’s voice reassured Yennefer beyond rational explanation. 

“They’re closing in.” She had a job to do, after all.

For a while it seemed their extensive planning payed off. Yennefer observed the events unfold as one would appraise a match of gwent. Each well thought-out move the mages made seemed to strike where the enemy expected it least.

“It’s working.” She sent out telepathically.

For a moment, Yennefer allowed herself to hope. Perhaps they could do this. Perhaps they would live to see another day.

Just as she began to convince herself of it, the tables turned. 

First it was Vilgefortz. Though she had no love for the warlock, the feeling of his defeat had her closing her eyes in grief. She could feel his anguish through their connection before he lost consciousness. He deserved better. However, Yennefer had no time to linger on the kovirian's demise when Nilfgaard breached the gates. She held in a scream as a portal materialized itself within the walls, arrows shooting from its swirling center. Vanielle and the frightened blonde sorceress from the previous night fell before her eyes, sharp projectiles protruding from their bloodied chests. Yennefer felt something inside her rip violently at the loss of their mental presence. 

Holding in her tears, she searched for Tissaia to reassure herself that the woman did not share her friend’s fate. There was no sign of the rectoress. Triss was missing too. 

“Tissaia, we must stop Fringilla.” She pleaded through her thoughts, hoping the woman would return so they could finish this together. When no answer came, she was at a loss, fear taking over where hope once stood. She called again and again but soon felt the familiar barriers settle themselves around the rectoress’ mind, effectively blocking her further attempts. 

Without the reassuring presence, Yennefer felt desperately alone and could only stare at the destruction and death around her and wish for it to be over.

Yennefer will never forget the next turn of events. Even long after she has forgiven Sabrina, for it was never truly her fault, the memory of the woman's cruel eyes crinkling as she pierced her flesh shall forever plague her mind. She doesn't remember falling from the tower, but as she's already moving towards the raging battlefield, Yennefer has a single goal on her mind.

She had to find Tissaia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very humbled to see that you guys appreciate my little fic! The reactions to the last chapter made my heart swell!! I'm in love with this amazingly supportive community! :)
> 
> Kudos and comments make my day!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia's POV as she faces Fringilla.
> 
> -Be sure to catch chapter 5 first!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 Chapters in one day!?? Whaaat ;)
> 
> Be sure to read chapter 5 First!!!!!!!
> 
> This one is from Tissaia's POV! I'm not sure if I'll continue alternating between them but I'll try to make it as clear as possible so no-one gets confused! 
> 
> Here you go, enjoy!! :)

“Tissaia…we must stop Fringilla”

The rectoress steeled herself as she marched into the woods, leaving Triss behind to find her way back to the keep. She had felt Vanielle and Coral falling, among many other mages she had been less acquainted with. Their death spelled the end of any hope she had for her former student. Although a pragmatic part of her was impressed with the ingenuity shown by the nilfgaardian, the woman beneath the unfeeling mask grieved at the waste of life.

At some point, she had cut her mental bond to Yennefer. Although the lack of the younger woman’s presence was felt immediately and dearly by the rectoress, Tissaia knew the risks of what she was doing. Should she fail, she could not force more death onto Yennefer’s already suffering mind. 

She walked as she lost herself in the memory of her fallen friends. She remembers the camaraderie born out of centuries of rapport. As she hears the crunching of leaves beneath her boots, she remembers Vanielle’s shy laughter and how the woman had always stood beside her, no matter what. They were both high-ranked sorceress in what was undoubtedly a world of men and often found solace in each other’s company. She saddens at the thought of no more tea parties. 

Vanielle could always tell when she needed cheering up. She distinctively remembers how her friend had supported her after a particular ascension ball, many decades ago. It was like the woman _knew_ , before even Tissaia herself did. Though if she did, she never commented on it.

This leads her to think on Coral’s own initiation and how they had kept corresponding long after the woman left Aretuza. They became true confidants and she had taken great pleasure in the younger woman’s friendship. It was not often that she found one so true with a former charge. Though Coral had always been special to her. A true skelliger. Tissaia found her refreshing and despite their outward differences their shared a deep understanding and appreciation for one another. 

But they were no more. Their resting place, a forgotten hill. Her friends, dead fighting a war Tissaia had dragged them into. Begged them to join.

Tissaia did not have much in life, but in this place, which had already taken so much from her, she felt herself becoming ever emptier. She doesn’t feel like the all-powerful arch-mistress others made her out to be. She feels weak. She wonders if it has anything to do with a violet-eyed sorceress. 

She had kissed the girl. Or Yennefer had kissed her. She’s not sure which anymore. She only knows it was a mistake. It must have been. 

Although it hadn’t felt like one.

Tissaia prided herself on her everlasting control. No emotion was too important to be free of it. However, where Yennefer was concerned it seemed her control was non-existent. The emotions resurfaced by the kiss were more than those Tissaia had felt in the last three hundred years combined. Unbeknownst to her, she had wanted to taste the younger woman’s lips for longer than she dared admit. These unfamiliar feelings also served to convince the rectoress to return Yennefer's touch as they sat waiting for daylight. Yennefer was like a beacon to her, guiding her to warmer shores. 

She made Tissaia want to _feel_ again. For the first time in her long life, Tissaia found herself wanting _everything_. 

Perhaps this lapse of judgement is what inadvertently stays her hand and seals her fate.

She breathes it in. An automatic reflex, you see. 

It burns immediately.

A flood of pain that completely blanks her mind of anything other than the pure anguish coursing through her body. She feels simultaneously cold and blazing and she cannot catch her breath long enough to even attempt to cough out the poison. She knows Fringilla is still talking but no words reach her stinging ears. As the mage walks away Tissaia is glad to be alone. At least no one will be around to witness her pathetic death. One so unbecoming of an arch-mistress of Aretuza. 

She tries to order her thoughts as she feels herself slipping. Before she goes, she wants to recall the way Yennefer had felt against her and the way violet eyes had darkened as they peered at her after their passionate embrace. This final indulgence is one she allows herself. Though she knows it to be impossible, Tissaia wants to die imagining it – they - could have been so much more. 

The word “everything” buzzes in her head repeatedly as her consciousness fades. 

But even death finds her unworthy, it seems. 

Yennefer’s voice is soon boring into her mind, breaking through the solid dimeritium barrier tainting her crippled body. Pleading. Telling the rectoress that she needs her. Beckoning Tissaia to keep fighting. 

So she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Comments are amazing and kudos are fantastic!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7!
> 
> Sorry for the wait - busy week! I'll try to have the next chapter up by the weekend! 
> 
> I'm not 100% satisfied with this but I had to plow through it to continue the story!
> 
> Hope you like it! :)

She stumbles across the forest. 

A mocking mirror of her earlier journey. She had stood proud then, still the unbent rectoress equally feared and respected throughout the Continent. A shadow of her former self staggers to where she thinks Yennefer might be. 

She feels a coating of sweat and grime on her skin and tries her best to ignore the blue hue that appears to seep alongside them. Her hair is pulled in all directions and hangs by a thread at the back of her head. Her fine zerrikanian dress is ripped at the seams and dirtied from the mud and the powder. Its already impressive weight increased tenfold by their presence. She can taste fresh blood on her lips and lining the inside of her mouth and finds herself unable to care enough to wipe it off. 

With every second that passes she feels less like herself. Why should she strive to maintain the image of flawlessness? Arch-mistress de Vries may as well have died in that clearing. 

She finds the notion of imperfection doesn’t unnerve her as it once did. Curious. 

Each step brings a new sort of agony, knives pierce her lungs with every breath she takes. Her hands ache from stopping one too many falls along the way. Although the other woman’s voice had disappeared from her mind as quickly as it had surfaced, Tissaia carries on following blindly the breadcrumbs that she hopes will lead to Yennefer’s location.

For that is what she is. 

Blind. 

Numb also comes to mind as she cannot help attempting to feel the chaos around her only to become increasingly nauseous at the effort. She scolds herself for even going back to the hill, for what use could a magicless sorceress possibly have? 

Still, she already knows _why_ she goes. 

It is not in the pursuit of glory nor in the hopes to regain her pride. 

She goes because Yennefer asked her to go. _Needed_ her, that was the word she used. 

And she never could say no to Yennefer. 

Not when she sounded like that, at the very least. 

She wonders idly what will be waiting for her beyond the forest. When she first came to, Tissaia was shocked at the color of the sky above her. What had started as a beautiful day had become terribly dark for reasons more pressing than the mere passage of time. 

She remembers Vanielle and Coral. It hadn’t been a dream. She wonders if the others are alive. 

But it seems once again fate has seen fit to torture her. On the outskirts of the woods, before she can reach the keep or find the girl, she hears more than sees soldiers approaching her location. 

Nilfgaard men, whose laughter seem eerily misplaced given their surroundings. _It is their way_ , she hears her own voice in her head, reflecting words said in a similar context. 

They see her and cower for a moment, expecting a magical reprieve. She tries valiantly to look imposing and lifts her arms menacingly. Nothing courses through her veins except metallic poison. Her hands shimmer pitifully for a short moment before she is spent, and the sparks dim to nothingness. Reduced to her meagre carnal envelope, she is no more menacing that a slight middle-aged woman. 

They share a look between them and snigger, lifting their swords as they approach her form. She shivers unwittingly at their wicked faces. Nothing like a higher purpose to commit men to do the unthinkable. The irony of her own words mocking this turn of events. 

She is trembling from the dimeritium, not from fear, she tells herself. As she prepares once again for the release of death, she hears a resounding cracking noise. Her thoughts are still disconnected, making it hard to grasp exactly what is happening around her. She stares curiously at the broken bodies at her feet. 

Did she do this?

“You’re alive.” Coming from behind her, she hears the voice that has been haunting her since awaking in the woods.

“Yennefer...” She tries, barely a murmur. It couldn’t be her. 

But sure enough, as she turns slowly towards the voice, there she stands. 

Face grimy and bloody, dress in shreds. Impossibly beautiful even now. Tissaia wants to throw her head back and laugh at the vision. It doesn’t matter that she likely isn’t real, surely only a last attempt by her body to activate some sort of survival instinct in her. 

Every muscle in her body screams at her to run to Yennefer and take the woman in a tight embrace, one she hopes never to be released from. 

She falls to her knees instead. 

“No…” Yennefer is by her side immediately, grasping hard enough to leave bruises on her arms. They land in unison on cold, wet ground. 

“No! The Northern Kingdoms are close! We can’t give up.”

Tissaia hears the words but they swim around in her mind along with everything else around her. She lowers her head as bile rises in her throat from disorientation. Her only point of focus is Yennefer in front of her, hands gripping her elbows, anchoring her. She grips her back just as fiercely.

“You… you saved me.” Yennefer sobs, voice breathless from chasing Tissaia across the battlefield. “I won’t ever forget that.” 

This feels like goodbye, Tissaia thinks. 

Cold settles in her bones as the unwelcome thought passes through her head. It leaves behind a sense of dread Tissaia is unaccustomed to. Throughout her long-life, fear had been a notion irrelevant at best and laughable at worst. 

This, however, horrifies her. 

“It’s your turn… to save these people. To save this Continent.” She inhales with difficulty. “To save yourself. This will be your legacy. Live to see it.” Her own voice sounds unfamiliar to her ears. 

She briefly wonders if Yennefer has heard her at all when the woman sobs again, shaking her head.

“I can’t!”

“You can!” 

With her last breath she will make Yennefer realize her own potential. She will make her see the woman Tissaia sees when she looks at her. 

Yennefer is the living embodiment of chaos – deadly and volatile but incredibly powerful. _The most powerful woman in the world_ , she had said once. But in Tissaia’s eyes she was so much more than that. 

The headstrong girl she met nearly a century ago had slowly become the focal point of Tissaia’s attention. It hadn’t been a quick development though, far from it. Confrontation and resentment prevailed for most of their relationship. Understanding was hard to find between them. 

But the underlining affection continued to grow after their meeting in Rinde, and after the events of the last two days it was overflowing from Tissaia’s heart. She had to allow some of it out, lest she explode from nameless feelings. 

Using the last of her strength Tissaia pulls Yennefer closer, tightening her grip as she forces the next words out.

“I have already lost so much in this place.” Tissaia has never known how to bare her soul, it is not in her nature to expose herself. Always balanced and controlled, hidden from prying eyes. She has never succumbed to emotion, to weakness. But here, disheveled and dirty, she will try. 

She glides her hands up the woman’s arms to cup Yennefer’s cheeks. “I refuse to lose you too.” She whispers, hoping to convey with her eyes and her touch what she cannot yet voice. 

“Tissaia…” 

“Promise me. Please.”

“How?” Yennefer asks weakly, not ready for what she knows will come next. 

“Everything you have ever felt, everything you’ve buried…” Tissaia holds Yennefer’s gaze as she strokes her face fondly. “Forget the bottle. Let your chaos explode.” She whispers, feeling what was left of her strength bleed out along with the words. 

The younger woman closes her eyes in understanding. Her hands drift up to hold Tissaia’s in place against her cheek as she inhales sharply. 

Tissaia too shuts her eyes at this unspoken communication. Not being able to do much else, she pulls Yennefer closer, gently but firmly touching their foreheads together. The gesture is a painful reminder of their last night in Aretuza, not two days before. How long ago it seems. She had also held the younger woman close then. This time, however, she is comforting herself as well as Yennefer. 

She doesn’t know how long they stay this way, but it isn’t long enough. 

Tissaia fells herself sinking as Yennefer makes to stand up. Their hands are last to part and soon she is alone again. 

Unwilling to die head hanging low, she strains her neck as she attempts to follow Yennefer’s departing form with her eyes. She hears more footsteps approaching in the distance. Be it friend or foe, _whatever happens_ , she will not tear her eyes away from the younger sorceress, Tissaia tells herself. 

She feels at peace. 

If she is to die, then let it be by Yennefer’s hand.

\-----------------------------------

She expects it. Sees it exploding from Yennefer’s outstretched arms before she is forced to close her eyes. Hears the screams of those around her. Feels the heat close to her skin and the specter of an intense light against her closed eyelids.

But it does not burn her. 

As she chances opening her eyes, she can only marvel at the sight before her. 

Yennefer, beautiful and terrible as the firestorm she has summoned. 

Tissaia can only stare astounded at the vision on the hilltop before her own consciousness fades and she slumps to the ground, completely spent. 

\-----------------------------------

Silence greets her.

Disoriented, Tissaia sits still as the sound of her own heartbeat and heavy rattling breathing fill her ears in the desolate battleground. Nothing but blackened ashes linger on what was once lush green fields. Not a soul in sight.

She stands shakily, legs trembling as she looks around in confusion. As her memory slowly returns, Tissaia glances at the hill where Yennefer had stood, hellfire spilling from her fingers.

It stands empty. 

“Yennefer?” She asks the void. 

No answer.

She steps closer to the hilltop.

“Yennefer!” Although logically she knows it must come from her own body, Tissaia is still surprised at the thundering yell she produces. Her lungs protest but as she scrambles to the top she cannot be bothered by it. 

Yennefer is nowhere to be found. 

Near her last standing place lay a slight pile of ashes mixed with ripped cloth. The rope designs, though charred, still visible.

Tissaia understands now. She knows what the younger woman had done. 

She had saved Tissaia’s life and in doing so had broken her promise. 

She had broken her promise.

The shame normally associated with the sting of tears a distant worry, Tissaia falls to her knees beside what remained of the raven-haired sorceress. As she clutches the rough fabric, she does something she has not done since time immemorial.

Tissaia weeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading !!
> 
> Feel free to scream at me in the comments >:)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 8!
> 
> A mass effect quote found its way into this - don't ask me how that happened... Also, the last quote is by Kahlil Gibran. A few nods to the show's writing will also be present and for Vilgefortz speech I was inspired by a real speech from 1901 for the Unveiling of the South Carolina Monument on the Chickamauga Battlefield. I hope I don't offend anyone by using this, I mean no disrespect, on the contrary. 
> 
> Any mistake is my own!
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy!

Tissaia fumbles idly with her pendant. The piece of jewelry had hung over her neck for the last two centuries and yet she had never really felt its weight before today. 

In her large and dim living quarters she can barely make out her reflection in the mirror of the dressing table before her. As she sits in its puffy stool, she lets her hand glide over the mother pearl earrings Vanielle had gifted her not ten Name Days ago. She picks them up gingerly and soon they decorate her ears, their smooth surface catching the candlelight. A stark contrast to her black gown.

How she detests that color. 

She looks over herself. She looks thinner though that is no surprise considering the treatment she had undergone to rid herself of the dimeritium in her veins. Not to mention barely eating at all since waking up in the makeshift infirmary after the battle. She remembers the feeling of ash running through her fingers before her vision became blurred with tears. She must have fainted not long after. 

Tissaia's gaze lingers on her own eyes. Red rimmed but otherwise presentable.

And then, she waits. 

Before she has counted to 600 there is a faint knock on her door.

“Come in.” She sighs, still facing the elegant mirror.

A hesitant head of red hair appears beside her own reflection. A sad smile gracing its features.

“My apologies. I was concerned when you didn’t show up. We have been waiting for a while.” Triss says apologetically. “I came to see if you needed any help.” 

In any other context, the last sentence would have Tissaia bristling and fervently denying ever requiring aid. But now, looking at the downcast expression on sweet Triss’ face, she can only sigh heavily. Tissaia’s eyes linger on the bandages around the younger woman’s throat as she murmurs,

“It’s quite alright, dear.” Her voice catches from misuse. “Are they all there?” 

“No-one would dare leave without you, of course, but you know how impatient the Chapter can get…” She trails off, eyes skirting to the side. “Yes, Tissaia. All of them. They are all waiting.”

“Good.” Tissaia answers mildly as she stands up.

Normally the mere idea of being tardy is enough to aggravate her to no end. It is a concept entirely unbecoming of any well-respected enchantress. Present in others, it is a fault she would not easily forgive or forget. 

But not today.

Today she makes sure she is late. Quite late, in fact. Not for any personal reasons, she has been ready for a while.

She does it for Yennefer. 

She does it because she is certain it would have made the raven-haired sorceress laugh. She always did enjoy seeing Tissaia lose her composure. And Tissaia always enjoyed seeing her happy.

A last gift for Yennefer, Tissaia thinks as she shakes her head sadly at her own foolishness. 

As she is escorted by Triss through the drafty corridors, Tissaia thinks back to Yennefer’s last night at Aretuza. 

She recalls her own apprehension as she made her way down the depths of Tor Lara. When she walked by the eel pond, she was reminded of her exchange with Yennefer earlier that evening. How had they gotten this way? As she looked at Yennefer’s power-drunk face she remembers feeling disheartened at their crumbling relationship. It would always be about power for Yennefer. Nothing Tissaia could ever give her would satisfy Yennefer’s ever-growing need for _everything_.

But, to Tissaia's surprise, she had come to her that night. For all her mixed feelings about the institution, Yennefer was there to offer Tissaia her help in defending her Aretuza, when she could just as easily have turned her back on her. And afterwards Yennefer had held Tissaia close to her chest as she bled for her school. She had been gentle and tender in her healing ministrations. And, when Tissaia was at her most vulnerable, she had not scorned her. Instead, she had lain Tissaia in her own bed as she stood watch from an uncomfortable armchair, before succumbing to sleep herself. 

Tissaia had felt guilty about leaving quietly the morning after, but she had decided not to disturb Yennefer's sleep for she would need all her strength. The least she could do was help her to the bed. However, as she approached Yennefer's sleeping form, she stopped. The younger sorceress had been mumbling in her sleep. By the looks of it, she was caught in a bad dream, face frowning and calling miserably for Tissaia. The older woman smiled softly and tiptoed to kneel before the chair. She placed her warm fingers on Yennefer's forehead, brushing away the stray strands of raven hair before concentrating on stilling her thoughts. Soon enough Yennefer sunk into the backrest, demeanor once again peaceful. 

Perhaps this is what they could have always been like, had it not been for their misguided sense of pride.

In any case, Tissaia was astounded at how much the younger woman cared. At how much their mutual silence and fabricated indifference had cost them in terms of happiness and peace.

For what was the source of their first suffering? It lay in the fact that they forever hesitated to speak. It was born in the moments when they accumulated silent things within them. 

How she wished that she had also lost her sense of propriety along with her blood that night. 

Everything seems different now. The invisible chains that once held Tissaia in place no longer a burden. 

But it didn’t matter anymore.

Yennefer was dead. 

Not by Tissaia’s own hand but it might as well have been. 

Everything she had done to ensure the younger woman’s survival made no difference in the end. Using forbidden blood magic to activate the ancient elven ruins of Tor Lara. Depleting herself to make sure her girls would have a safe haven to fall back to, should the battle favor Nilfgaard. 

Aretuza must hold, she had told Yennefer. For where else could the mages flee to, should they lose?

Tissaia had already come to terms with the idea of sacrificing herself to provide them a chance of escape. She would die so they, so Yennefer, could live. It was an easy choice, especially given that it was Tissaia who had begged them to fight.

But here she stood. Alive while Yennefer and so many others were gone.

She is pulled out of her reverie as they approach the Great Hall, where a full committee awaits their arrival.

For decorum’s sake, Tissaia greets Stregobor, Artorious and several other Chapter mages present before turning to acknowledge Vilgefortz and Sabrina. She is aware that this is the first time most of them have seen her since the battle. Triss is still beside her, touching her upper arm softly as she takes charge and says to all present, 

“If no-one has any objections, we should go now.” Tissaia is thankful for Triss’ initiative, even if she could trust her voice she does not wish to play her role as rectoress today. 

“Yes, no point delaying any further.” Stregobor says, staring pointedly at Tissaia.

They had agreed beforehand to use portals to get to Sodden. While avoiding the use of transportation spells had been a useful tactic during their initial journey, they had no need to hide any magical imprints from Nilfgaard’s sorcerers any longer. The Empire had retreated to the confines of their capital to reconvene and most likely to plan future attacks. But that was a concern for another day. 

The chaotic energy in the room was suddenly focused. A handful of mages worked to create several large portals that would allow them all easy passage. Triss still holding fast to her arm, Tissaia stepped forward and inhaled shakily as she traversed the swirling gate. She leaned slightly against the younger woman, still feeling the aftereffects of the metallic poison as it came in contact with the magic. 

Sodden stood before her, the hill having regained some of its previous green color although it still bore the scars of warfare. 

The other mages followed soon after. Their dark clothing taking over the view. All enchanters of the Continent, even those who had not taken part in the fight, were invited for the unveiling ceremony. Tissaia looked around to find familiar faces already waiting for them. Philippa Eilhart, Keira Metz and Margarita Laux-Antille amongst them. They looked out of place, dressed in fine colorful silks, surrounded by the grieving.

Rita came to her immediately.

“Tissaia!” The blonde woman grasped her forearms.

“Margarita. It’s been too long.” Her voice came devoid of emotion. 

She looked at the three sorceresses and sighed heavily. She had not come to fight. Chastising the women for not having stood beside them would not change the past or make the pain of it go away. After all, fighting had always been a choice. She had made sure of it herself. 

It did not stop the bitter taste on her tongue, however. 

She nodded at them and finally turned her eyes to the high column covered in black cloth.

It looked… imposing.

Tissaia approached it with heavy steps, she should move to take her place alongside the other higher-ranking members of the Brotherhood but choses instead to stand beside the survivors and the wounded. Triss and Sabrina smile at her approaching form, the former with tears already running down her cheeks. 

This is where Tissaia belongs, with those who fought alongside her. 

They stand in silence for a while when Vilgefortz arrives. Dashing even as he limps towards the monument, a severe expression darkening his face. He had volunteered, Triss had said. Being accustomed to battle he was also used to honoring the fallen. 

Not for the first time since the battle, Tissaia feels angry. 

Stand in the ashes of one hundred thousand dead souls, and ask the ghosts if honor matters. Their silence is your answer.

With the help of three other men they finally unveil it. A stone obelisk now stands proudly at the center of the gathering.

“We are here today to honor the dead of Sodden Hill. This memorial shall forever bear testimony to their valor and heroism in the face of corruption. Not one week ago we met on this heroic field to join the battle against the southern invaders. Most of us have passed into the great unknown, and those who are left will forever carry on the memory of their bravery. Here, standing on soil made sacred by the blood of many of the brightest, best and bravest amongst us, I ask for a moment of silence and I beg you to reflect on what was given to us through the ultimate sacrifice of our fallen brothers and sisters.” 

Tissaia looked at Vilgefortz for a while as he spoke, voice reverberating through the silent crowd, but she had to lower her head against the onslaught of tears. A few escaped her iron grasp – an adequate metaphor to her ongoing loss of control.

When it was over there was no applause. The moment of silence that was requested extended longer than Tissaia could say. 

Little by little the hill became emptier. The Chapter left first, taking with them their puppets. The others soon followed, whether they left the premises or simply congregated someplace else she did not know, but before long Tissaia found herself alone in front of the stone marker. 

She takes the final steps to stand directly before it. She closes her eyes and takes in a steadying breath before looking over the names engraved on its surface. She had known all of them, albeit most were mere acquaintances. Her eyes still briefly over Coral and Vanielle’s before finding its target,

 _Yennefer of Vengerberg_.

She traces the marking with gloveless fingers. Lingering here and there, over the soft curves of the expertly crafted calligraphy. 

Tissaia smiles sadly as she finally understands the common saying,

"Love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> The angst hit hard but hang on a while longer, it might be worth it ;)
> 
> The next chapter is already written, I just need to edit it! I will post in on Sunday so keep a lookout! 
> 
> Smooth sailing from now on - for my writing schedule I mean... definitely not for these two :p
> 
> Comments and kudos make my day!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 9! 
> 
> TW: somewhat graphic depiction of injury
> 
> As usual, no beta so all mistakes are my own! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Tissaia is pulled from her musings by the sound of footsteps approaching. 

“I’m sorry about Coral and Vanielle. I know how much they meant to you.” 

She looks briefly over her shoulder at the blonde woman behind her, before sighing and turning back towards the name plaques.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

Tissaia closes her eyes at the words.

“If you are looking for absolution this is not the place to seek it.” Tissaia says after a while. She feels exhausted. “Nor the right time, if I might add.”

She makes to leave but stops short beside the other sorceress. 

It seems something inside Tissaia has permanently softened. Once the dam holding her emotions had been breached, she felt it impossible to reign in even the smallest impulse of sentimentality. Tissaia places a hand on a freckled arm.

“I understand, Rita. Truly, I do.” She sighs, letting go of the other woman. “I’m glad to see you looking so well.” Tissaia tries a small smile, but it isn’t genuine enough to reach her eyes.

“I wish I could say the same for you.” Margarita searches her face as she murmurs, “What happened in this place?”

Tissaia looks back to the obelisk, “It seems we were… unprepared for Fringilla’s machinations. A mistake we will not repeat, I'm sure.” 

“Unprepared? I thought you’d won-“ 

“But at what cost?” Tissaia asks firmly, eyes boring into blue ones. “What good is winning if we lose what we were fighting for?”

For in the end that was what it was. 

She had been fighting for Yennefer just as much as Yennefer had been fighting for her. 

Tissaia is under no more illusions, they had fought for _them_.

Rita had always been perceptive and incredibly attuned to people’s emotions. At some point, she had even been the object of some of Tissaia’s, and what she feels emanating from the smaller woman now is unmistakable. It is equally something she had never felt permeating the rectoress’ aura. She gasps,

“You’re in love.” 

“Yes.” The answer comes easily, there is no use denying any longer.

Margarita's eyes skirt to the monument before finding blue-green ones again, 

“Is– Is she dead? “

“Yes.”

“Then I am truly sorry.”

“So am I.” Tissaia pauses, breathing deeply “So am I.”

And with that, they part ways. Tissaia heads to the castle’s entrance, the place where their camp once stood and where the makeshift infirmary can now be found.

Tissaia hasn’t been here since being well enough to manage a portal back to her quarters in Aretuza. She feels guilty for it, knowing she could have aided in taking care of the wounded. Perhaps now is a good time to remedy that. 

Inside the larger tent she finds Triss. The younger woman is already hard at work, crushing herbs with the help of a pestle. There is movement all around her, some volunteers carry buckets of water while others change the bed linens and perform simple treatments. Amongst them she recognizes some healers from Aretuza’s sick bay. Nobody notices her intrusion. 

Triss coordinates the scene, mortar in hand. She stops abruptly when she sees Tissaia standing near the tent flap, an amused look on her face.

“What?” 

“You are doing good work, Triss.” Tissaia smiles proudly at the younger woman, “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

“Of course! You’d make all the difference.” Triss stops herself before she can get carried away, “Are you sure you’re well enough? I- I mean, we could really use your help, but – “

“Hush now. I’ve had enough of sulking in my chambers. I’m perfectly fine." Seeing the disbelieving look on Triss' face, Tissaia raises an eyebrow and reiterates in a tone that invites no more discussion, "I want to help.”

“Well, in that case…” The redhead smiles at her mentor as she points to areas that could use the rectoress’ attention. 

Soon after, Tissaia has changed to a much simpler blue cotton gown with a white apron fastened around her waist. Wisps of hair are coming out of her tight bun as she prepares to help yet another patient, a young man with a sword wound too deep to magically heal. The boy is catatonic, and she does not know if he fought for Nilfgaard or for their cause, but it matters little to her. Triss does not care either, they agreed not to discriminate and heal whoever comes through the door. They knew well enough that these lads were but pawns in nobler men’s games.

She administers the Swallow potion she brewed just half a candle mark ago. If he makes it through the night, he will live. 

Satisfied with her work, Tissaia is sweeping her hands on her apron when two burly men walk in with a stretcher. She glances worriedly at what they’ve brought in.

“This is not a morgue.” She says pointedly.

“She’s not dead.”

Tissaia looks over the body again and both her eyebrows shoot up, disappearing into her hairline. Most of the bodies in the infirmary had been burned, the majority of them victims of Yennefer’s rage, but none had been this badly injured. None who survived the first few days at the very least. 

The woman had burns all over her body, easily noticed given her complete nakedness. Her entire skin was covered in blisters and open wounds, most of which looked infected, Tissaia noted. She had no hair upon her head and her face was entirely disfigured, her half-open eyelids displaying milky white corneas. 

Before Tissaia could say anything else, the creature let out a blood-curdling shriek that made the rectoress and the men jump, almost dropping their load. 

Well, if she was screaming then she wasn’t dead. 

“Put her on the bed there. Quickly! ” Tissaia pointed to a secluded cot by the edge of the tent. She was sure the other patients would appreciate being as far away as possible from this noisy nuisance. 

As soon as the men left, Tissaia got to work.

She quickly downed a magic enhancer before turning back to the woman who now lay completely still. Tissaia magically cooled her fingers as she started cleaning the most superficial of her wounds. She had to pluck several pieces of clothing that had melted into the woman’s skin. The fabric was rough, but any discerning detail had been charred alongside the rest of her body. 

Initial cleansing done, Tissaia moved to ascertain the extent of the damage. She quickly separated the wounds that could be healed with magic from those that could not and made to collect the lush spruce branches she had been using for her spells thus far. 

While normally she had enough control over her chaos to not require such an aid when performing simple healing, since the dimeritium poisoning she found it harder to concentrate. It was merely a matter of commodity, Tissaia told herself as she began chanting in Elder, witnessing the leaves wilt as flesh mended itself. 

Afterwards she made to the alchemy bench, checking on some other patients along the way. She prepared two sorts of healing balms, one to be applied around the wounds to help with the already setting infection and another for the blisters. Tissaia was particularly worried about the woman’s face and scalp. She knew of an old spell, but even if she could perform it, she deemed it too risky with the woman's body still so fragile. 

Once everything was applied, Tissaia did a last round to verify that no-one required anything. She was the sole healer present as she had insisted that Triss and Sabrina rest for the evening. Eventually she came back to look over the woman one more time. There was something familiar about her that Tissaia could not place.

Her observation was unceremoniously interrupted by a loud cough behind her. 

She turned to find one of the men who had brought the broken girl to her earlier. His eyes grazed over the woman's form in a way that made Tissaia wholly uncomfortable.

“Can I help you?”

“Just checkin’ in. How’s sleeping beauty over there?”

Tissaia rolled her eyes. “Since you are here, do tell. Why did you only find her now?” She asked, unable to keep the anger from her voice. 

The battle had been almost a week ago. The woman’s wounds had had time to fester and any treatment she could offer her now would have significantly less chance of success. Tissaia also wondered if the girl's current state of undress had anything to do with the _gentleman_ in front of her.

“We couldn’t get to her before.” He snorts loudly. “She was under one of ‘em parts of the castle that collapsed during the fight.”

“And which part is that?”

“I don’t know. Something like a ruined courtyard, deep into the keep. Beats me how she got there. What matters is pretty lady’s here now, innit? Even if not for long.” He sniggers and leaves the tent ungracefully, likely eager to avoid further questioning. 

He needn't have bothered, Tissaia had stopped listening after “courtyard”. 

She looks back to the woman and falls to her knees beside her static body.

“Yennefer?” She whispers, searching the scorched face for any trace of the raven-haired sorceress. She picks up the woman’s blistered hand, “Yennefer, is that you?”

The is no response but the mere idea lights a fire inside Tissaia. A voice in her head warns her not to get her hopes up, that this probably (and most likely) is not Yennefer. As if to prove its point, her mind is assaulted with images of empty hilltops and ashy grass. She pushes them all away, choosing for once to believe in her intuition. 

If there was a chance this was Yennefer, no matter how small, then Tissaia would save her. 

She owed her that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Edit: I mixed up the name of the potion Tissaia uses on the wounded boy, it's supposed to be the Swallow potion, not White Honey... my bad!
> 
> Next chapter should be up on Tuesday! 
> 
> I feel kinda bad about all the angst... but it can't be helped... just hang on - remember delayed gratification
> 
> Kudos and comments are really appreciated :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10! Who would've thought! :)
> 
> No beta - all mistakes are my own 
> 
> Enjoy!

It had been almost two days since the disfigured woman’s arrival.

Aside from the chilling wail when she was first brought in, she had made no other sound save for the occasional groan and seemed completely oblivious to her surroundings. 

It never deterred Tissaia.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

Following the realization that this could be her Yennefer, Tissaia had all but doubled her efforts. 

So far, the woman’s biological response had been somewhat promising. After a complicated first day, where Tissaia was confronted with the fear that the woman might die before she could unveil her true identity, the treatment seemed to be taking effect.

As she prepares another batch of healing salves, Tissaia tries not to linger on the memory of the woman’s body going into shock from trauma mere hours after first being brought to the infirmary. 

She can still feel the cool, clammy skin under her own trembling fingertips as she strove to save the woman’s life. She had worked tirelessly trying to stabilize her and, when the girl stopped breathing altogether, Tissaia spent almost all her chaos in a desperate attempt to keep her heart beating. 

She had tapped into her own life force and had been feeling the repercussions ever since. She felt significantly weakened and doubted she could pull the maneuver off again, fervently hoping she wouldn’t ever need to.

But it _had_ worked.

Not long after, the woman calmed down, body returning to its normal functions, although color did not return readily to her ashen cheeks. A stark contrast to the rest of her form.

Tissaia continued to care for her relentlessly, not straying from her side the entire night. Her vigil was only interrupted every now and then by her leaving to resoak a piece of cloth in cold water to soothe the woman’s burning forehead. 

She had yet to tell Triss or Sabrina that she believed the woman was Yennefer. 

Tissaia knew she would not be able to stand the pity in their eyes if she told them. She knew they would surely regard her as a delusional old woman, clinging to a hopeless cause. 

No, she would do this alone.

With this in mind, she had completely taken over the woman’s treatment. Tissaia didn’t doubt Triss’ healing abilities, on the contrary. But she selfishly wanted to be the one to nurse the disfigured girl back to health. Besides, Tissaia knew no-one alive would take better care of her. 

Although baffled by this, the other sorceresses said nothing, not wanting to be at odds with the infamously headstrong rectoress. To boot, they were secretly glad to see the older woman regain some of her fire. It was a welcome change from the defeated woman that seemed to inhabit the Arch-Mistress' body since Sodden. Still, they were understandably puzzled as to why she would go to such lengths to provide for a dying stranger.

As the days went on, the woman’s condition saw little improvement. Her breathing was still ragged even if Tissaia’s balms and spells did wonders for her skin. Tissaia inspected her head thoroughly and soon realized that the woman’s hair loss could not be attributed to a simple burn. It seemed to have completely disintegrated, this suspicion was further confirmed by the specs of ash Tissaia found clinging to her scalp and behind her ears when she first cleaned the wound.

Strange. 

Tissaia also payed mind to the woman’s eyes. Their structure seemed to have been left unmarred by the flames. As if she spontaneously became blind. This bode well for her. If the nerve network had truly been damaged, then it would have been almost impossible to return her sight. But this… Tissaia could work with this. 

She became more and more convinced that this was the result of magic, perhaps even a spell gone wrong. 

Which one, though, Tissaia could not say. 

For all her time spent in the libraries of Aretuza, fervently consuming every tome she could lay her hands upon in the hopes of never finding herself unprepared in the face of danger, Tissaia could not place this enchantment. 

It seemed her old rectoress was right, no-one could be prepared for everything. Much younger and more naïve back then, Tissaia had scoffed at this. She had vowed to always be in full control of the situation, to always know more about her enemies than they knew about themselves.

It is this promise that inspires Tissaia to look directly at the source of her investigation. 

Once she feels strong enough, Tissaia sits beside the woman on the bed. She places both hands on either side of her deformed face before closing her own eyes in concentration. 

She can feel it immediately and wonders how she failed to sense it before. A mental barrier. The kind only a sorcerer could produce. 

This woman is a mage, no doubt about it.

It was a weak one, however, she concludes after prodding it lightly. 

Following a troublesome start, Yennefer had learned rather quickly to master barreling her mind against another’s invasion. Soon enough, even Tissaia found it impossible to peer into the raven-haired sorceress’ thoughts. 

_It could still be her_ , Tissaia heard herself say. Surely any enchanter would have difficulty maintaining such defenses when one’s body was as frail as this.

Tissaia decides she needs more proof. 

With fresh determination, Tissaia forces her presence further into the unconscious woman’s mind. She searches for anything that may give her an inkling as to who this person is. Not two seconds later, she begins to feel it. 

Swirling chaos.

Liquid and hot as molten lava. A whirlpool of fire blazing wildly in the woman’s core.

Feeling the pull of the rectoress’ mind and taking advantage of this newfound connection, it snakes its way into Tissaia’s mind before she can sever her link with the woman.

Tissaia burns. 

She screams, assaulted by this feeling she has never experienced before. It feels as if her skull is exploding from the inside out. If she had stuck her head in an open oven, it would not be nearly as scalding as it was now. It is _hell_.

She feels a splash of cold water hit her face and despite her surprise, the relief is instantaneous. 

After a moment, Tissaia opens her eyes to find herself kneeling on the ground against the tent wall, still breathing heavily. 

She is soaked to the bone. 

Disoriented, Tissaia does not remember moving from her place on the bed. She looks up to find Triss’s terrified eyes staring back at her, a (now empty) small wooden bucket on her hands. Sabrina stands behind Triss, looking stunned.

“What happened, Tissaia?” Triss asks worriedly and then adds when no answer comes, “Tissaia, can you hear me?”

“Y-Yes.” Still not over the initial shock, Tissaia realizes she is trembling, though from the cold water or from what felt like her own spontaneous combustion, she could not tell. “Why am I wet?”

“You were screaming for water. Like something was burning you. I panicked!” Triss shrills. 

“Is it because of that woman?” Sabrina asks, tone only slightly less indifferent than her usual.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Now breathless, Tissaia’s voice seems to have lost some of its bite. 

“What did you do, Tissaia?” Sabrina tries again, eyebrow raised. Daring Tissaia to avoid the subject again.

“I attempted thought transference. It did not work.” The look on the other women’s faces told Tissaia that this explanation would not suffice. Failing thought transference did not equate to crawling on the ground screaming one’s lungs out. 

When they continued to expect an answer, Tissaia laughed mirthlessly, “You’ll take me for a madwoman.” 

“Try us.” Triss says. Still kneeling in front of Tissaia, she places her hand gently on Tissaia’s wrist. 

Attempting to regain some of her composure, Tissaia stands to her feet and sits elegantly on a wooden chair not far from where they stood. She begins to smooth the wrinkles on her dress. The gesture loses some of its finesse given that she is still dripping from Triss’ watery assault. The redhead sees this and passes her a clean towel before taking her place in the seat opposite Tissaia’s. Sabrina is still to move from her initial position. 

“I have reason to believe the disfigured woman you see is Yennefer.” Tissaia pauses, taking in their reaction. Triss’ eyes widen but Sabrina says nothing. “I know what you’re thinking, but I feel it with every fiber of my being. And I know I can save her... But I would be lying if I said I do not require assistance.” Another pause, she sighs, “Please.” 

Tissaia searches their faces with pleading eyes, hoping for a hint of understanding.

She finds none. 

They are both very quiet for a moment. Then, without warning, Triss begins crying earnestly and moves to hold Tissaia in an awkward embrace. 

Tissaia closes her eyes in embarrassment. This is exactly what she did not want. 

The healer is choking out comforting words whilst sobbing into Tissaia’s neck. Triss says she understands what Tissaia is going through, but that this is madness. Says she has to let Yennefer go, among other things. 

Tissaia stops listening after a while, choosing instead to look over the younger woman’s shoulder, where Sabrina gazes at her with an indistinguishable expression. She locks eyes with Sabrina for a second before losing herself in her own thoughts,

She finds she cannot be angry with Triss, not really.

The girl is scared. She is afraid that once this folly is over, Tissaia will once again retreat into herself like she did after Sodden. Something Tissaia herself had thought multiple times since undertaking this endeavor. She recalls wasting away after the battle, refusing to eat and even to talk for several days after awakening. 

Triss had been there for her, ever patient and compassionate. 

So, Tissaia suffers this embrace silently. 

She cannot blame Triss for this all-too-normal reaction. 

Maybe the woman is right.

Maybe she _is_ losing her mind.

When Triss pulls back to look at her, Tissaia smiles kindly at the younger woman, brushing her tears away. She tries to reassure Triss as best she can, or at least enough for the redhead to let the matter go. When she tells Triss to go to sleep, the healer nods and bids them goodnight, leaving Tissaia and Sabrina alone in the tent. 

Sabrina sizes Tissaia up but remains silent.

“Don't tell me you also think me delirious?” 

“I believe you.” Sabrina says matter-of-factly.

“What did you say?” Surely, she misheard.

“I said I believe you.” Sabrina bristles, annoyed at having to repeat herself. When Tissaia opens her mouth and no sounds come out she continues, “Say you are right, and this _is_ Yennefer, what should we do… What _can_ we do? “

To say the rectoress is shocked would be an understatement but she recomposes herself quickly, taking note of the determined look in Sabrina’s eyes. 

She knows the blond woman also feels an obligation towards Yennefer, one born of their fateful last encounter during the battle. Tissaia understands Sabrina more than she dares to admit. Beyond her cool and unfeeling countenance, lies an intense and passionate woman. She is also aware of Sabrina and Yennefer’s almost fraternal relationship. They bicker and argue but share a deep and meaningful connection. In the end, that is all that matters. 

If Sabrina feels she owes a debt to Yennefer, then who is Tissaia to stop her helping bring the other woman back. 

Tissaia only hopes she is not wrong in this. 

She doesn’t know what she will do if she is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And thank you for hanging on for 10 chapters, I still can't believe we've made it this far! :) 
> 
> But there's still more to come so buckle up - it's going to be a bumpy ride! 
> 
> Second to last chapter on thursday! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are really appreciated!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter! 
> 
> As usual, no beta so all mistakes are mine! 
> 
> Enjoy!

“I’ve found it.”

Tissaia looks up from the page immediately. She was so absorbed in the tome she hadn’t heard the blond woman walk in. She recovers swiftly, letting the book drop to the floor with a thud,

“You are certain?”

Sabrina nods. She glances over her shoulder to make sure they are alone and, when she is satisfied Triss is nowhere near hearing range, Sabrina reaches into her traveling satchel. 

“The Pontar Valley is particularly troublesome at the moment. Stories about Sodden have already reached the far North, it seems.” She says while rummaging through her things. “But I had no trouble along the way. A lone mage is the least of their worries, I imagine. And the elven ruins were easy enough to find. The energy of that place can be felt from miles away, all I had to do was concentrate on it and -”

“And you are certain you have found them?” Tissaia interrupts Sabrina’s rambling. She is up now, wringing her hands expectantly, book lying on the ground, forgotten. 

“See for yourself.” From the depths of her leather purse, Sabrina pulls something that seems to have been cautiously wrapped in a silk cloth. She unveils is carefully to reveal a single purple rose. Its petals catch the light, giving the impression that the flower is shining alluringly in the candlelit space. 

It is beautiful, in the way all roses are beautiful, yes, but there is something about this flower that puts all others to shame. It is perfection. 

“They were exactly where you said they would be. Just outside Flotsam. But Cáelmewedd was not as lovely as you described, it is little more than a heap of stones now.” Sabrina continues, but Tissaia is no longer listening, seemingly mesmerized by the blossom. 

She reaches for the rose, but Sabrina holds it firmly in her hands.

“I don’t think I had heard of these before you mentioned them. Roses of Remembrance.” She says the name exaggeratedly, “Why not teach about them in Aretuza?” Sabrina narrows her eyes at the older sorceress.

Tissaia huffs, “I had good reason not to. These are powerful artifacts and are _not_ to be trifled with. They can be easily misused should they fall in the wrong hands.”

“But not your hands?” 

“If you do not trust me not to abuse their power, then why go through with it at all?” Tissaia raises an eyebrow, hiding the hurt she feels at the younger woman's words behind a cool façade. 

“I do trust you, Tissaia.” Sabrina sighs, handing her the flower, “But don’t keep me in the dark any longer. I want to know what you are planning.”

Rose in hand, Tissaia stands in awe of its beauty. Memories of her time with the elves come flashing back to her. She clears her throat and takes a step towards the blonde sorceress.

“The enchantment is an ancient one.” Tissaia whispers, “If I did not share its details with you, I have done it for the sake of time, not out of distrust. I cannot be sure what will happen but there is a chance this might quell the fire within the woman and allow her body to begin healing itself.”

 _The woman_. Tissaia still could not bring herself to use Yennefer’s name. It would make what lies at stake too real. 

Sabrina hears her attentively and then lets her gaze drift towards the form sleeping fitfully on the cot beside Tissaia’s now empty chair. She was much the same as when Sabrina had left, almost three days ago.

“Has she woken at all?”

“No. And I fear she never shall if we do not act soon.”

“Then the choice is simple.” Sabrina nods decisively, “What must we do next?”

“We must tell Triss.”

“What!?” Sabrina seethes, “I thought we agreed to keep this between us. Triss has suffered enough.”

“While you were away, I gathered the herbs we will need” Tissaia continues, brushing off Sabrina’s temper, “I have been secretly brewing the concoction. It will be ready by nightfall. We must proceed then,” She pauses, “and Triss must be at our side when we do.”

Sabrina is livid but nods her assent. Tissaia reciprocates the gesture and takes the flower to the small round table next to the disfigured woman’s bed. On it stands a small vial filled with a crimson liquid. Tissaia delicately places the flower inside it, stem first. The faintly wilted petals spring back to life the moment they touch the fluid.

“What is it?” 

“Blood. Mine.” Tissaia answers flatly, “Roses of Remembrance feed on it. It will keep it fresh, which is paramount if the spell is to work properly. Now let us fetch Triss, shall we?” 

\------------------------------------------

Triss’ reaction had not been as expected. 

Tissaia had anticipated yelling and rage but she was not prepared for the look of disappointment the redhead directed at her.

“You dragged Sabrina into this?” She asks dismayed.

“Triss, you must understand.” Tissaia swallows hard. “Her injury is undoubtedly chaos-related, and we never truly found Yennefer’s… _body_. All the evidence points to it.” She sighs heavily,” But more than that, I _know_ this is Yennefer.”

“Yennefer is dead, Tissaia.” Triss shakes her head sadly, “She died to save us, to save you. This wild goose chase won’t bring her back. Nothing will. I can’t watch as you wither away again when this doesn’t work, Tissaia. I just can’t’.”

When tears form in the woman’s brown eyes, Tissaia takes her in her arms, shushing gently. 

“Oh, dear Triss. You were always a caring one and I thank you for it, but I must ask that you trust me now as you have trusted me before. I am not wrong in this.” 

“I hope you’re right, Tissaia.” Triss sniffs as she pulls away from the smaller woman, “Do not take my hesitance for anything other than fear. I want this to be Yennefer just as much as either of you, but I’m… terrified of what will happen if she’s not. How can I not be?” 

Once everything is explained and Triss and Tissaia have left to put the finishing touches on the potion for the spell, Sabrina goes to sit beside what she hopes is Yennefer’s unconscious body. 

She waits quietly for a while, searching for the right words. When none come forth, Sabrina steels herself and turns her attention to the form lying unnaturally still,

“Hello, Yenna.” She pauses, “and I’m really counting on this being you, otherwise this will be beyond embarrassing,” Sabrina huffs, “But if you are there, _somewhere_ , then you must come back to us. Though it pains me to say, I still have some apologizing to do and I’ll be damned if I have to do it twice because you weren’t awake the first time.” 

Sabrina smiles tentatively and places her hand over the woman’s for a brief moment before dusting herself off and leaving to see if the others need help.

\------------------------------------------

Tissaia is measuring the same ingredients for what seems to be the hundredth time when Triss lays a hand on her shoulder, startling her into dropping her pipet.

“I’ve brought you some stew.” Triss thrusts her the bowl, not giving Tissaia the chance to deny her hunger, she teases “Your stomach is growling louder than a ghoul’s, you’ll upset our patient.”

Tissaia scoffs but cannot help the corners of her mouth twitching upwards. 

Before she can retort, she is being guided by Triss to sit on a wooden chair not far from the alchemy table. Once seated, she eagerly takes a spoonful of the casserole, looking over the infirmary as she flavours the warm food. 

The large tent was mostly empty now. 

Where, at one point, over twenty cots occupied the crammed space, now only the disfigured woman’s remained. 

The battle had been almost a fortnight ago and most of the wounded had already gone home or… 

Tissaia tries not to linger on it. 

She knew they couldn’t save them all. 

Besides, she is no stranger to death. But as her mind wanders to the wounded boy from her first day back to Sodden, she feels herself saddening. He died that same night. Even a Witcher’s potion could not deliver him. In an exceptional display of tenderness, Tissaia had held his hand through the night as he deliriously pleaded for his mother. 

When he breathed his last, something shattered inside her. 

Later, as Tissaia lay on her own bed in a separate tent, sleep evaded her. She thought of the fallen and of those who still had fresh breath in their lungs. She thought of life, and the unfairness of it. She thought of death, and for the first time in many centuries, Tissaia saw no beauty in it. 

A clearing of a throat brings Tissaia back to the present. 

“You should eat while it’s still hot.” Triss’ voice is kind and she makes no comment on the rectoress’ absent state of mind, “I enhanced it myself. It should help with the enchantment.”

Tissaia nods and continues eating. Triss fidgets nervously before asking,

“Have you ever done it before?” 

“I have not.” Another spoonful, “No-one has.”

“What? Then how do we know it will work?” 

“We don’t.” At Triss’ frightened expression Tissaia adds, “The physical part of the spell should work well enough, that’s not what concerns me. Whatever plagues her is slowly consuming her essence… I fear we may already be too late to salvage it. She might be nothing more than an empty vessel at this point.” Tissaia sighs heavily and lays down her spoon beside the bowl, appetite lost.

“Whatever happens, we did our best with the time that was given to us, Tissaia. That’s all anyone can do. Don’t forget that.” Triss tries but Tissaia is already far away again, as if sensing something, Triss adds, “You should sit with her for a while. I’ll go fetch Sabrina and when we return, we can commence.”

Once the younger sorceress is gone, Tissaia approaches the bed, perching beside the woman. At a loss for what to do, she grasps her hand, stroking a thumb softly over raw knuckles. The motion feels eerily nostalgic and, despite the fact that she had recurred to it several times since the girl's arrival, there is a distinct mix of emotions that plague Tissaia as she covers the rough hands with her soft ones. 

Overwhelmed by a looming sense of dread mixing with fervent hope, Tissaia does the only thing she can, she talks. If it is to the silent woman beside her or to Yennefer’s ghost, she does not know – either way she hopes wherever Yennefer is, that her words will reach her,

“My dearest Yennefer… I feel as if there was always an ocean of silence between us, and I’m afraid I realized much too late I was drowning in it. There is so much I wish I had said to you when I still could. Here and now, I can only say that, at Sodden... as I thought I was dying from the poison in my veins, I had never felt more alive… because I had you in my arms.” 

It is almost too much, but Tissaia soldiers on, the need to voice her thoughts crushing her every other instinct, “I never thought I would ever know such bliss, and I fear after experiencing it, I shan’t ever be the same.” 

She stops to cup the woman’s face, “ Know that if you cannot be with me in life, then I shall always carry you within me, in my heart and in my soul. But still… I _beg_ you, do not go where I cannot follow.”

Although she does not, cannot, cry anymore, Tissaia finds herself choking out the words.

Never had she spoken so candidly about her own feelings, even in the privacy of her own quarters, free of audience. 

She’d imagined she would feel emptier after baring her soul in such a manner, but Tissaia has never felt fuller. 

The myriad of emotions that flow through her now give Tissaia new resolve. Though still nervous for what is to come, Tissaia closes her eyes and focuses on reading the shifting chaos around her. 

It feels… different. 

She knew that all the most powerful emotions could directly affect chaos, she has witnessed firsthand how fear and anger influence and even alter it, sometimes creating a distorted force that corrupts all it touches. 

But love? Love is chaos itself. 

The realization hits Tissaia hard as she feels her entire body tingling from the newfound sensation. 

Her senses seem to have been born anew, sharper, and more vivid. It feels like her conduit moment except also completely unlike it. Perhaps because this time Tissaia does not cower, instead, she embraces it. 

Her soul seems to have reached a new understanding of magic and Tissaia lets the transformation permeate her, giving her a new awareness of the energy that surrounds not only herself but also every living thing. 

It is staggering. 

This is how Triss and Sabrina find her, clutching the woman’s hand for dear life and breathing deeply, a resolute look made feral by her sharp features.

It is time.

And she is ready.

\------------------------------------------

Triss hands her the potion. A glowing green liquid composed of a multitude of rare herbs Tissaia had brewed over the last three days. The vial itself shimmers with the magic contained inside it. 

Sabrina stands to the side, looking closely at the proceedings. 

Not an accomplished healer herself, she is there to provide whatever support she can, whether it be in channeling her own chaos to steady Tissaia’s or simply to safeguard the Rose of Remembrance until it has served its purpose. 

Tissaia moves confidently to stand at the woman’s bedside. 

With the Triss' help, she raises the girl’s back to ease the liquid down her throat. The moment the last drop is consumed, they lower her head back to the pillow. 

Triss takes back the empty vial and hands Tissaia a glass and metal syringe containing a different draught, yellow in color. One intended to strengthen the woman’s body and ready it for the trauma it will undergo throughout the ritual. 

Tissaia wastes no time in jabbing the needle just above her heart, hard enough to elicit a groan from the unconscious woman. She hands the empty pump back to Triss and places her hands on either side of the woman’s face. 

She closes her eyes in concentration and begins chanting in Elder directly into her forehead. The intensity of the magic emanating from Tissaia's frame makes the tent's walls flap violently.  


Once the spell has been vocalized, Tissaia hovers her hands over the woman’s chest. When they begin glowing blue with pulsing energy, Tissaia drifts them down to fly over her entire figure.

A grunt escapes the rectoress’ control as she fights to keep the magic undiluted and flowing evenly, not keen to overexert herself or the body below her. The enchantment leaves her skin gleaming and exuding a blue-ish hue. Specs of light drift upwards from her into the air even as Tissaia lowers her hands. 

The rectoress is close to being spent.

She looms over the woman’s form, bracing against the cot as she witnesses the spell take effect. 

Triss stands at the ready with a healing potion but Tissaia raises her hand.

Tissaia holds her breath as the energy concentrates on the woman’s head. It lingers briefly on her scalp, clearing away the wounds and leaving behind black wisps of hair. Tissaia knew magic could only go so far with extensive damage such as this but the promise of further growth elates her. 

She already longs to touch the short soft curls flourishing there but stills her hand in waiting. 

And then, the swirling blue magic settles on the girl’s face. 

It hides it entirely for a while, leaving it cloaked in a dense sphere of light.

Tissaia draws in a sharp breath when it unveils what she has desperately longed to lay eyes upon,

_Yennefer’s face._

Some cuts, burns and bruises still decorate its surface, but it is undeniably Yennefer. 

Tissaia whimpers and involuntarily moves to cradle the face that has haunted her since awaking alone after the battle. She allows herself to tenderly caress the newly revealed skin before retreating to initiate the second, and most important, part of the incantation. 

With trembling hands, she takes the Rose of Remembrance proffered by Sabrina. 

From it she plucks a single violet petal. 

Tissaia holds it against her own lips and lowers her face towards Yennefer’s. Their lips touch, separated only by the delicate thin purple leaf of the flower. 

The energy radiating from it is overpowering, and this close to her skin, it would be easy to let herself be consumed by it. 

In her mind, Tissaia utters no particular spell. 

There are none. 

Instead, she takes the Elder and molds it to fit her will. She coaxes the power from the relic to work in her name, forcing it to do her bidding. 

When Tissaia has no more to give, she pulls back, reaching for Sabrina behind her for support as she staggers slightly. 

A beat passes and Yennefer breathes out in a puff of air that sends the petal gliding gracefully away from her lips, until it disintegrates entirely upon touching the ground. 

Eyes still closed, Yennefer raises a shaky hand to trace her own mouth, touch lingering there for a few seconds. She is still to produce a sound when Tissaia prompts, breathless but unable to wait any longer,

“What is your name?” 

Yennefer gasps, face turning towards the sound, “T-Tissaia?” Her throat catches from disuse. 

“Yes", she whispers, "I’m here, Yennefer.” 

“Tissaia…” Yennefer sobs in relief, trembling hands reaching out blindly. 

Overcome by emotion, Tissaia plops down on the bed and cups Yennefer’s cheek, brushing away the tears now flowing freely from the younger sorceress’ still closed eyes. Yennefer flutters her heavy eyelids in an attempt to gaze ahead, pupils dilating wildly as they adjust to the brightness. Soon enough, glimmering violet orbs find Tissaia's blue-green ones. Tissaia nudges their noses together and laughs sweetly as a tear drops from her own eyes and makes its way down Yennefer’s nose. 

“Hush, my sweet. I’ve got you.”

And, overflowing with relief and unadulterated love for the woman in front of her, Tissaia slowly lowers her lips so they graze ever so softly against Yennefer’s.

And it feels like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer 1: I got the inspiration for the spell scene from a quest in the Witcher 2 Iorveth storyline. For plot purposes I’m choosing to believe that relics such as the Rose of Remembrance have multiple uses depending on who wields it !
> 
> Disclaimer 2: I couldn’t help myself, so I got heavily inspired by several different quotes from movies and books I love for Tissaia’s loving speech to Yennefer. They convey feelings and emotions much better than I ever could! I did try to make it my own, but I still felt a disclaimer was due! 
> 
> I wonder if you guys have any specific questions about past events in this story or other stuff that wasn't properly explained? Since next chapter is also the last one I want to make sure I answer all your questions!
> 
> Last chapter this weekend!
> 
> Kudos and comments make my day!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! We did it!!
> 
> No beta - all mistakes are my own!
> 
> Enjoy!!!

Yennefer had fainted shortly afterwards, much to Tissaia’s chagrin. 

Although the reaction was expected after enduring such a straining ordeal, the smaller woman still found herself worrying about Yennefer. 

She wonders mildly if she’ll ever stop.

When Yennefer wakes again it is to Sabrina’s watchful gaze. 

“Oh gods… You’re watching over me. I must be dead or dying, so which is it?” She rasps, mouth twitching in a lopsided smirk.

Sabrina snorts, “I never thought I’d be so happy to see your stupid face.” She smiles, “Welcome back, Yenna.”

“Thanks, Brina.” Yennefer tries to sit up. When it results in a severe sting that leaves her head throbbing painfully, she falls back into the pillows, clutching her skull. When her fingers find no resistance she gulps, “Sabrina... Where the fuck is my hair?”

“Yennefer!” Before the blond sorceress can answer, a loud voice shouts from the doorway. When Yennefer turns towards the sound to promptly curse at whoever is screaming, she feels a body colliding against her own, clutching at the fabric of her nightgown. 

“Well… Hello to you too, Triss.” She says, face buried under a mountain of curls.

“I can’t believe it really is you!” The redhead sobs, “Oh Yenna, I should have listened to Tissaia. I’m such a fool! I’m so sorry!”

_Tissaia._

Yennefer remembers now.

The hazy fog clearing from her head, she remembers Sodden. 

Finding the rectoress in the midst of battle. 

Feeling herself combust as she rained fire down everything in her path.

Well, perhaps not _everything_.

She also distinctly recalls blue-green eyes grounding her as she burned bright under a silvery sky. 

In her mind’s eye, Yennefer can still see those same eyes guiding her like a beacon in the night to the last place Yennefer had felt safe. As the torrid air swirled around her, scorching every piece of her it touched, she vaguely remembers opening a portal.

Her head hit the stone floor as she fell through the hole and then, nothingness.

“Where’s Tissaia?”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, the object of her query walks briskly through the door, tray in hand. 

Their equally wide eyes lock and they stare mutely at each other. 

Tissaia’s demeanor is unreadable save for a slight tremble in her hands that makes the tray’s contents clink against its metal surface. 

Sabrina and Triss seem to take this as their cue to leave for they get up unprompted, sparing Yennefer a smile before closing the door behind them as they disappear into a darkened hallway. 

Tissaia moves from her place by the doorway then, laying the platter on the nightstand beside Yennefer’s bed. 

Now able to get a better look, Yennefer is delighted to see it holds a healthy portion of porridge, topped with sliced strawberries, and accompanied by a small jar of honey. 

Her stomach grumbles in response. 

“I’m starving.”

“I’m not surprised. You should eat it while it’s still hot.” 

Yennefer smiles as the older woman takes the now empty seat by her bed, dragging it closer until her knees touch the duvet.

Yennefer grabs the bowl shakily and tries valiantly not to gobble down the oatmeal, knowing full well a wrong move would mean the end of clean, dry sheets. Besides, messy eating will do her no favors in the rectoress’ eyes. 

Stealing sidelong glances at Tissaia as she eats, Yennefer cannot help the flutter in her chest at seeing the rectoress alive and well, back in her element, albeit a bit thinner than when she saw her last. 

Her mind is filled to the brim with questions. There is so much Yennefer wants to say to the smaller woman, so much she wants to know. As she finally takes in her surroundings, she settles for the most pressing matter, 

“Where am I?” She asks between mouthfuls. 

“Aretuza.”

Yennefer stops the spoon in mid-air, “What?... _How?_ When did I get here? What about the battle?” She spews the questions in quick succession, mimicking her accelerating heart rate.

“Breathe, Yennefer.” Tissaia takes pity on her, “We brought you here shortly after you woke up. Once we knew it was indeed you, we could safely make the trip.” She pauses, “Sodden was a fortnight ago, Yennefer. You’ve been… _indisposed_.” 

Tissaia searches the younger woman’s face for any signs of understanding. 

Porridge forgotten, Yennefer can only stare in shock as she processes this new information. 

Something in what Tissaia said had caught her attention,

“What- What do you mean _‘when you knew it was me’_?”

Tissaia sighs heavily, “You were very severely burned. A consequence of your ‘forgetting the bottle’, no doubt.” Tissaia smiles but there is no mirth to it, and it fades soon thereafter, “Sabrina, Triss and I healed you… You were –” The smaller woman shakes her head, “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Was it that bad?”

Tissaia hesitates, “There was a ceremony. We-- We put your name on the memorial.” 

“ _Fuck._ ” Tissaia reaches out to lay her hand upon Yennefer’s when the younger woman started trembling. After recentering herself, Yennefer murmurs, “Tissaia, my hair?”

“It should grow back in time.” She cards her hands through it and the gesture soothes Yennefer instantly. Tissaia stops, now simply holding her head, “Yennefer, what do you remember of the battle?” 

“Not much after talking to you. Then everything is a blur …” Yennefer closes her eyes, reminiscing, “I remember fire. Lots and lots of fire.”

“That is a fair summary and yet still completely inadequate. You were… magnificent” Tissaia’s mind flashes with the memory, she whispers, “You saved me, Yennefer.”

Yennefer nods firmly, voice tight, “Good. I would do it again in a heartbeat.” 

Tissaia smiles sadly and shakes her head as she cups Yennefer’s cheek, stroking softly, “Don’t. It almost costed you everything.” 

“You think my life is some precious thing to me?” Yennefer lowers her eyes dejectedly, “Pain. Sacrifice. Suffering. What else has life got to give?”

“Joy, Yennefer… _Love_.” When Yennefer huffs wryly, Tissaia lifts her gaze with a finger under her chin, “You are loved, Yennefer.” Tissaia’s eyes moisten out of their own volition, but she cannot voice what is on the tip of her tongue, so instead she says, “You are very important to me.”

Tissaia curses at her own weakness. 

She wishes the words came as easily to her now as they did when she thought Yennefer was no more. But here, with Yennefer’s vulnerable and open face in front of her, Tissaia is afraid. 

So, she hides behind this small admission of appreciation.

In matters of the heart, it seems her centuries-old knowledge offers her no guidance. Presumably, the consequence of a life of solitude. Like a timid maid, Tissaia is scared to bare her soul, lest she experience rejection. Because in what world would she be deserving of Yennefer’s affection? 

Tissaia’s own mind berates her for this undignified cowardice.

This is why she does not or cannot outright say what she longs to. 

Yennefer doesn’t seem to catch this hidden meaning. She smirks at the rectoress before pulling away and refocusing on the porridge. 

“You’ve gone soft. Color me surprised. I didn’t think you’d miss me.”

The moment is gone. 

Tissaia had thought to allude to what had happened during the ritual. How Yennefer clung to her even as her consciousness faded. How they had sweetly kissed, a mere brush of their lips but one that had installed in Tissaia a deep longing that threatened to uproot all her carefully crafted control. 

Alas, it seems that particular conversation will have to wait. Seeing the younger woman now, Tissaia has doubts it should take place at all. Yennefer appears to have no memory of the events. Perhaps it is best to leave things as they are, after all, she mustn't scare Yennefer away mere moments after getting her back. 

Tissaia sighs and shakes her head, accepting this change of subject with a heavy heart, “I haven’t missed that cheek of yours, if that’s what you are implying.” 

They sit in comfortable silence and, when she is done eating, Yennefer settles back into the cushions, eyes already drooping. 

“Will you stay, for a while at least?” Yennefer asks tentatively. 

Though she feels there is more she must know, that Tissaia isn’t telling her everything, she cannot fight the bone-deep fatigue she is currently experiencing. 

“Always.” She thinks she hears the smaller woman whisper as she drifts off. 

\---------------------------------

“This is yours.”

Yennefer looks up from her book. Tissaia had lent it to her when she complained of boredom. Yennefer had been expecting some terribly dull herbology tome, so it came as a surprise when the smaller woman handed her a novel. She is lying snugly under the blankets in her temporary lodgings. Yennefer is secretly glad it is not the same room from the night before Sodden. 

Not only it is significantly less drafty, but it also does not serve as a constant reminder of Tissaia’s weakened state after performing blood magic.

“What is it?”

Tissaia hands her a purple rose, “They call them Roses of Remembrance. I’m sure you are familiar with the legend of Eldan and Cymoril. They vow that the roses will wilt unless they are nourished with blood… or if they are sold. They are powerful artifacts, as well. Without the magic from its petal you would not be here. It’s yours now to do with it as you see fit.”

Yennefer looks curiously as she turns the blossom in her hand, appraising it, “Hmm if I’m not mistaken, if one gives the flower to someone they love, the rose will live forever.” 

Tissaia splutters, cheeks coloring, “Nothing more than a simple myth, I’d wager.”

“Thank you, Tissaia.” She hopes the smaller woman understands her meaning, “I mean it.”

“Think nothing of it." Tissaia smiles, eyes crinkling, "Besides, I suppose that makes us even now.”

\---------------------------------

_Where are you going, crooked girl?_

Yennefer frowns at the memory. 

The voices are still fresh in her mind, as if the perpetrators were within arm’s reach, lurking in the darkness of her dim quarters in Aretuza. She can still hear the echoes of her own pleas, begging them to stop. To her ears, they sound just as desperate now as they were then. 

Even after almost a century of unrivaled beauty, the shadows of her first life still haunt her. Forever taunting the deformed half-elf girl who lingered somewhere behind the intricate illusion of perfection. 

Yennefer sighs, she tries but can’t remember a time in her past when she truly felt safe. As if to disprove the thought, the image of an abandoned white stone courtyard flashes in her head along with the phantom smell of fresh peonies. 

_No, best not to go there._

She closes her eyes, unable to keep staring at her own tarnished reflection.

Unwillingly, Yennefer is confronted with memories of her father and mother. _Stepfather_ , she corrects herself. The very ones charged by fate with her protection were also those who had betrayed her so extraordinarily. Destiny is cruel indeed. Yennefer wonders mildly what it would feel like to be loved unconditionally. To be loved for who she was. To simply be _enough_. 

Clearly, such simple joys were not meant for the likes of her.

No, she was meant for suffering. She should know this by now, Yennefer thinks. Such was her fate, to scour the ends of the world for what she had been denied. Respect, affection… Love. She scoffs at the word.

As she cards her fingers through her short black hair, she feels as if she’s lost something precious. 

After her enchantment, Yennefer had worn her new looks much like a knight would wear his armor. No longer would she be ridiculed for her twisted spine and protruding jaw. Now she would stand proud. No longer would she require love, for she was beauty itself. 

All would desire her and that would be enough. It _had_ to be.

But now, head devoid of her luscious raven locks and face marred by a myriad of cuts and bruises, Yennefer cannot help but feel vulnerable knowing her fragile veneer was crushed.

Funny, how easily her façade crumbled. 

Too absorbed in this downward spiraling introspection, she does not hear the door open nor the soft steps approaching. Yennefer is only pulled from her thoughts by a familiar press of hands on her shoulders.

“You’re thinking too loud.” Tissaia murmurs, cool hands serving as a balm to the fire still raging inside Yennefer. They lock eyes in the mirror and Yennefer is met with a new memory, the one of their meeting in Rinde. Unlike the ones from before, Yennefer had been the villain then. Now, filled with regret, she wonders if her own cruel words also haunt Tissaia. “I could sense your distress from my office. What is wrong?”

Since Yennefer’s return to Aretuza, such interest in her person had become something of a habit where the rectoress was concerned. 

Whenever Yennefer would feel the slightest bit upset, Tissaia would inevitably make an appearance, always keen to make the younger woman feel better. This newfound connection between them was surprising but not unwelcome, Yennefer found. She didn’t understand why but having Tissaia near helped ease her pain, even if it was just momentarily. 

“Hmm did I interrupt your leisure?” Yennefer huffs, “Though seeing what you were reading when I left, I doubt it is worthy of the term.”

“I would hardly call doing research for advanced classes 'leisure', Yennefer.” 

“Gods. Don’t tell me there are books in Aretuza’s library that you are still unfamiliar with.” She tuts, “Shame on you, Tissaia. What would the Chapter say?”

Tissaia rolls her eyes and scoffs in amusement. Yennefer tries valiantly to smile, to push aside whatever has been troubling her for the past days and simply enjoy the present moment. However, she barely manages to make her lips twitch. This reaction, or lack thereof, does not go unnoticed,

“Talk to me.” Although a command, the gentle tone coupled with the soft hands against her robe take Yennefer by surprise. Tissaia’s eyes are searching and Yennefer feels herself opening up almost involuntarily under the smaller woman’s intense gaze.

Tissaia is taken aback by the prod to her consciousness but she responds almost immediately, her now-open mind drowning under the flood of emotion coming from the black-haired mage. She sighs heavily, eyes closing at Yennefer’s misery,

“I wish life had treated you kindlier, --” 

“You and me both.” 

“-- but you are wrong. You’re more than your physical appearance, you always have been.”

“Easy for you to say. I’m sure you’ve always been beautiful.” 

Yennefer lowers her eyes, wishing with all her might for the ground to swallow her whole. If she had felt somewhat vulnerable under Tissaia’s scrutiny before, now she feels positively exposed. Neither one speaks for a while after this and their bodies stand rigid, frozen like statues. 

Yennefer clears her throat and shrugs Tissaia’s hands off her shoulders. Wanting to spare herself further shame, she gets up from the chair and makes to escape the room with as much decorum as she can muster. She stops, hand hovering over the doorhandle, to look over her shoulder,

“I see I’ve finally got you speechless. Only took about 70 years.” Yennefer says in a feeble attempt to regain some sense of control. 

And, with that, she leaves.

\---------------------------------

A day later, Yennefer is strolling through the herb garden when she finds who she is looking for.

“Shall I fetch you a ladder?” 

Gardening shears in hand, Tissaia is balancing on the balls of her feet as she tries to reach a particularly tall branch. She squeaks at the interruption and turns swiftly to glare at the intruder. 

“Is it wise to provoke me when I am clearly armed?” She gestures with the clippers, but the upwards tug in the corners of her mouth diminishes the threat. 

Yennefer raises her arms in mock surrender, “Do forgive me, Arch-Mistress de Vries. I am no match for your… scissoring powers.” She chuckles.

The crude joke goes right over Tissaia’s head and she merely grunts half-heartedly, which only serves to make Yennefer laugh more.

“Say what it is you’ve come to say, Yennefer.” 

“I have no covert reason for seeking you if that’s what you mean. I was thinking of you and I… I just wondered what you were up to.” It's not entirely untrue. Yennefer had been avoiding Tissaia since their unfortunate conversation the day before. After kicking herself repeatedly for leaving things as she did, she decided it was high time she and Tissaia talked. While they had been apart, she had missed the smaller woman and the mere idea of their relationship reverting to its pre-Sodden state was enough to have Yennefer tracking down the rectoress all over Aretuza.

The sincerity in her voice makes Tissaia’s eyes soften, “Well then, now you’ve found me, you can take a tool and assist me. Unless you’ve forgotten your lessons?” 

Yennefer smirks and, for once, does as she is told. 

Their bodies find an easy rhythm in working together. Tissaia leads whilst Yennefer follows close behind, eager to please. 

This cozy dance is punctuated by stolen looks and sporadic giggles. 

When Yennefer forcibly shakes a branch above them in jest and witnesses as the yellow leaves land in Tissaia’s hair, she cannot help reaching out to collect them. She cards her fingers through silken dark-brown locks as she frees the leaves, one by one. 

Once she is done, she cups Tissaia’s cheek, brushing her thumb over the woman’s thin lips. 

Tissaia is looking up at her as if Yennefer’s eyes hide the Sun, the Moon and all the stars in their violet depths.

And suddenly, Yennefer understands.

As she lowers her lips to taste Tissaia’s, Yennefer finally understands. 

Wherever her mind and body wander, she will always find her way back here, back to Tissaia.

Back home.

\---------------------------------

Tissaia _had_ thought her heart could never feel fuller. 

She had thought that she could have led a peaceful existence knowing that Yennefer was now safe. That she could be happy in the knowledge Yennefer would never find her place in her arms. That she could nurture whatever she felt for the younger woman deep in her heart, never revealing them for fear of losing what had already come at a great cost.

Tissaia had thought that this was the happiest she would ever be – she was fully prepared to enjoy Yennefer’s short time in Aretuza before the woman would inevitably go away to continue her own adventure, her constant search for everything, as she put it. 

Tissaia knew that Yennefer’s quest would forever lead her further and further away from her – until the rectoress was but a distant, fading memento of her unpleasant past. 

When Yennefer kisses her, Tissaia realizes how wrong she was. 

‘ _This_ , this is what happiness feels like’, Tissaia muses briefly before Yennefer’s attentions steal all conscious thought from her.

She does not know how they found themselves all of a sudden in her own private chambers, but as Yennefer fumbles with the buttons on her dress, mouth never leaving hers for more than a second at a time, Tissaia finds she cares very little.

As her body is made bare under Yennefer’s frenzied but tender ministrations, Tissaia wonders if the other woman can feel the love she knows is radiating from her own form. She does not voice her question, lips too busy sighing in pleasure as Yennefer makes her way down her slender throat to plant open-mouthed kisses over her newly exposed chest and shoulders.

As a delicious shudder runs through her body, Tissaia can only cling to Yennefer for dear life as her knees buckle under the onslaught of sensation. 

When Yennefer scoops her up and lays her gently on the bed, Tissaia beckons her with open arms, never wanting to be parted again. 

They connect once more. A tangle of limbs caught in different type of dance. 

It seems even in this, they can count on their bodies for guidance, this magnet-like attraction is unlike any Tissaia has ever experienced. It makes every feverish touch feel simultaneously new and impossibly familiar.

As the younger woman nips her way down her body, Tissaia’s hazed mind wonders passingly if there was ever a time when Yennefer’s hand was not laced with her own.

Afterwards, once all the aspects of their physical forms are unveiled, Tissaia’s soul follows suit,

“I love you.” She whispers as she lies propped up on her elbow next to a happy-looking Yennefer, pale fingers reaching to graze the younger woman’s cheek. 

Yennefer’s smile widens and before she reciprocates the sentiment, she rolls them over so Tissaia is under her.

Tissaia beams at the soft words that mirror her own, a single tear rolling down the side of her face.

Their lips find each other again and again and so, the reveries of two solitary souls prepare for the sweetness of loving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have reached the end of this little journey! 
> 
> I want to thank you dear readers for hanging on until the end despite my penchant for angst and my broken English lol 
> 
> Since I had no real outline while writing this, I tried to make all ends meet but if I left some questions unanswered (or if you're curious about anything at all) feel free to let me know in the comments !! 
> 
> Thank you so much for your kudos, lovely comments and kind words of encouragement, this community is awesome and every one of you guys is a gem!
> 
> Feel free to come say hi on my tumblr @riverstyxgoddess – there’s some yennaia art in there as well! Maybe even leave me some prompts if you feel like it! :)
> 
> And with that, I'm off !!


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